Sabbath Summer
by twinsais
Summary: A trip to NYC drops Schwarz in the midst of a psychic conspiracy that could swallow them whole. One witch could hold the key to their survival. Now, if only they could trust her. Rated for Yaoi, Violence, Blood and Gore, Sex, and Swearing
1. Chapter 1

Just like a car crash….

She ran through traffic, heedless of her direction, side aching and lungs burning as she gasped for breath. Horns blasted into her ears, directly into her ears, but she didn't hear them. She only heard the wild beating of her heart as she fought to gain ground on her pursuers. And the insidious whisper inside her mind.

Just like a knife….

She hit the sidewalk and kept running, into the dark embrace of an alley, dodging trash bags and a homeless vagrant as she desperately, prayerfully hoped that she hadn't chosen a dead end. She knew They were behind her, even though she couldn't have seen or heard them. She knew They were closing, tracking her, tracing her movements, undistracted by the minds around them. She knew They wanted her, more than they had wanted the other.

That was good. The witch was still free then. But she was going to die.

She saw an end to the alley and bolted for it, but she arrived too late. The mouth of the alley was blocked by three dark figures. Ahead and behind her, she knew without needing to look. She could feel the emptiness of them, like a void that sucked all sound and all light into them and created a shadow in the mind's eye.

She looked around. There was a piece of broken glass. She snatched it up. 

"Come with us," the insidious voices whispered, the blank eyes of the foremost figure burning into her as he reached out. She knew, somehow, that his touch would be only ice. "Join us. Be part of us, no longer solus, but conlatio. Be One."

"I would rather die," she sobbed, and she raised the shard to her throat. She could slit it… but suddenly she was afraid. Too afraid to do it. And when he touched her, the cold burn made her drop the glass.

As her personality, her memories, everything that she considered part of herself were drained away from her and assimilated into the mind at the Core of the One, she wished once more for death. But she got only blackness, and their voices inside her head.

Now….. you are One. 

Just like a car crash, just like a knife, my favorite weapon is the look in your eye.

Silence.

X-X-X

"This city is a godforsaken dump," Schuldich complained as the limousine carried them away from the airport and into the heavy, close-situated architecture that defined New York City. Across from him, Brad Crawford gave him a look of mild annoyance and then returned his attention to the dossiers he'd removed from his briefcase. On Schuldich's right, Farfarello pressed his hands against the tinted window and watched the city pass by in a blur of gray and brown stone and shining glass, and on Schuldich's left, Naoe Nagi sat quietly staring out the window also, lost in thoughts Schuldich didn't feel like invading, at the moment.

Next to Crawford, Takatori Reiji sat in his expensive suit, looking less than thrilled with his proximity to both Farfarello and Schuldich and mumbling to himself about discourteous and sloppy Americans. Crawford, to his credit, said nothing even though he was American himself, and New York was his home.

"I mean it," Schuldich repeated with disgust. "Look at this. Human filth, ineffective police, sloppy construction . . this place could use a makeover." He smirked suddenly, and nudged the lithe, pale body at his side. "Hey Farfie, what do you say we change the scenery a little? Put a little fear of the devil in this city?"

Farfarello turned, regarding him silently with his single, remaining amber-colored eye. He said nothing, but Schuldich reached into his thoughts and sneered when he found that for once, Farfarello wasn't fixating on murder or the pain of God. His interest was with the city, which he'd never seen before. He was thinking about how different New York was from Tokyo, and Schuldich had to agree with him there. New York, at least, had some class still clinging to its ancient facades, whereas Tokyo was nothing but a glittering, painted whore trying to cling to the past and sell the future at the same time.

"Attention from the American authorities is the last thing we need, Schuldich," Crawford told him crisply as he replaced his documents in his briefcase and snapped the case shut. "Your games will have to be put on hold for the duration of our stay."

"But all work and no play makes Farfie antsy," Schuldich shot back, fingertips skating across the Irishman's thigh. "And we didn't bring the straightjacket."

Crawford gave him a look of dry amusement. "Actually, it's with my things."

Schuldich made a frustrated sound and threw up his hands as Crawford, smirking to himself, leaned in to speak quietly with Takatori. It was somewhat pleasant to be back in New York, though the place held relatively few memories for him. Takatori's determination to visit some of his failing branches of business here and intimidate his people back into shape was what had dragged Schwarz here in the first place . . as Takatori's bodyguards, their duty was to accompany him on trips such as these and see to his safety. Fortunately, Takatori didn't leave town often, though Crawford had to admit that this little excursion was a relief. It would be nice to get away from Tokyo for a while. Nice to get away from Weiß.

Thankfully, Crawford foresaw no danger to his employer popping up in the near future, so he found himself able to somewhat relax, although Brad Crawford, as a trained agent of Eszet and a professional in all things, never fully let down his guard. For one thing, he was being paid to be on the alert even when his precognitive abilities told him the future was clear. For another, letting one's guard, and hence one's shields, down around Schuldich was just a bad idea.

Currently, the redhead was occupied with sprawling in his seat and looking utterly bored, with his arm draped casually across the pale shoulders of Farfarello, who didn't seem to mind. For not the first time, Crawford wondered about the nature of the rapport the telepath and the madman seemed to share. Farfarello tolerated behavior from Schuldich that he would kill another person for, and out of all of Schwarz, Schuldich seemed the only one who held any sort of understanding of what, exactly, was going on in that twisted head. Crawford didn't think they were fucking. Given Farfarello's fondness for knives, the evidence of that would have been impossible to hide. But there was a lot one could do, sexually, that didn't necessarily involve sex, and he hadn't ruled out the possibility that those two might share a relationship that hovered on one of those lesser stages.

He knew that Schuldich and Farfarello sometimes shared kills. With further consideration, only morbid curiosity made him even wonder what else they shared.

Pushing his glasses back up his nose with one slender finger, Crawford checked his mental shields again, finding them sound, and set his mind to the task at hand . . frightening the hell out of Aaron Meyer, the man whom Takatori had placed in charge of the first corporation they were being driven to. Crawford was paid to be alert always, to take notes, to plot and to scheme and to use the interests of his employer to advance the interests of Eszet. Nagi was paid to be their expert in all things computer. But at this particular meeting, all Farfarello and Schuldich were being paid for was to stand there and be scary.

As much as Brad didn't want to admit it, the pair of them together could accomplish that objective far too well.

X-X-X

Farfarello crouched on the narrow sill of his new window, this one much bigger than the one at Schwarz headquarters, and with a better view. His room was nicer too, and though he'd heard Crawford say that he'd brought the straightjacket along, there were no hooks with which to suspend him from the ceiling.

Not that either measure held him for long.

For now, though, he was free and he had managed to retrieve one of his knives from his luggage before Crawford thought to confiscate them all. He chewed on the slender blade now, idly, his own blood staining his lips as he ate up the view of the city.

New York fascinated him.

He couldn't exactly put his finger on what it was about this place that was so grand, so new and old at the same time, so arresting, but Farfarello didn't need reasons. It was enough for him that it was so. And so he sat with his knees against his chest and his arms looped around them, knife dangling from his mouth as a trickle of blood ran down his chin, following for a half-inch the line of the scar that trailed from his lower lip to the back of his jaw. Then it broke free and hung for a moment at the crest of his chin, before dropping and losing itself against the skintight black clothing he wore. His pants were leather, bondage, tied together by a loose strap just above his knees. That simple. He liked the more elaborate designs, wanted some of those, not to be restrained with, but to enhance the look he liked for himself. Perhaps he could persuade Schuldich to take him shopping, since Crawford didn't like Farfarello being out on his own. His sleeveless top was lined with Kevlar, a precaution taken because in the heat of battle, Farfarello was unlikely to notice a fatal bullet wound.

There were benefits and curses to the inability to feel pain. Farfarello tended to think of it as a curse, a trick of The Liar's, when God had taken his pain away and in doing so, disconnected Farfarello from the race of his beloved children. He could no longer feel, so he was no longer human, no longer beloved. By that reasoning, Crawford had better standing with God than Farfarello did. But the Irishman didn't particularly mind that. He didn't want standing with God, except as an Adversary. He had tasted the tainted love of the deity whose lies were greater and more insidious than Lucifer's, and he hungered now for The Liar's blood. Crawford had said no killing on this trip, because New York City was not as overcrowded as Tokyo, and murders (at least the type of murder Farfarello was responsible for, which fell more under the category of rabid mutilation) were far less likely to go unnoticed, especially if he performed them on the clergy, as he had a habit of doing. But with Crawford's attention taken up by Takatori's escapades, Farfarello thought he and Schuldich would have more than enough opportunity to go out and perform their desecrations in peace.

The police would not find them. They never had.

The door to his room cracked open, and Schuldich stepped inside, running slender fingers along the door jam. He was checking it for the feasibility of adding another few bolts. This, Farfarello knew without needing Schuldich's mind-reading powers. The telepath glanced up at him and smirked, and flicked a few strands of orange-red hair out of his sharp, dark blue eyes. Ever-vain, Schuldich took great pride in that mane of hair and in his own delicate, wickedly sensuous features. When he bothered, the German could put on such a captivating appearance that even without the aid of his Gifts, both men and women surrendered to him without a word of protest, enslaved by his trademark smirk and the grace of his lanky body.

Schuldich was Farfarello's ally in the war against God.

"Enjoying the view, Farfie?" he inquired silkily, hands shoving deep into the pockets of his dark-colored jacket as he searched for his cigarettes and found them, and his lighter. The flame flickered, and Farfarello turned his attention from the window to watch it dance.

Schuldich dragged on the cigarette and put the lighter away, and Farfarello went back to staring out his window.

"You like it here, don't you?" Schuldich's voice was a bit quieter, a tone for a private conversation between them. Though Schuldich had told Farfarello nothing of the sort, the one-eyed member of Schwarz knew the reasons they had long, intimate, and meaningful conversations, usually after their two teammates were asleep; Schuldich was the only one who would talk freely to Farfarello, and Farfarello was the only one who would listen to Schuldich.

He answered Schuldich's inquiry by tracing his fingertips down the cool glass, lips parting just a bit as he watched the movements of a street he could just barely see between the buildings. "This is a city of decadence," he said frankly, nails clicking against the glass. "Modern Sodom, an eyesore to God."

Schuldich leaned against the window frame, body stretching sensuously against the plaster as he ducked his head to look, to see what Farfarello saw. "And some say God smote New York City just like he smote Sodom," he remarked slyly, nodding off to the south. Farfarello didn't need to see the skyline to know that he was indicating the smoking, rubbled holes where the World Trade Center used to stand. "Fire from the sky… sounds appropriate, doesn't it?" He laughed.

Farfarello considered this, and then turned the golden depths of his gaze on the telepath. "God was responsible," he agreed slowly, his slight accent giving his voice a seductively lyrical cadence. "But to punish was not his intent. This was a sign, a cruelly phrased message. 'Turn back to me, America! Repent!'" His head swiveled mechanically and he smirked at the city, amber eye narrowing in an expression that had frightened trained assassins into backing down more than once. "But America is wicked and unashamed. She will never repent. She reminds me of you, Schuldich," Farfarello said slyly, lips twitching as he glanced at the telepath to catch his response.

Schuldich snorted, but he considered what Farfarello had said, and at length, he nodded. "Bringing down heaven and raising up a whore. Was that the line? Only a country as arrogant as the United States could get away with something like that. Japan's been trying and failing . . no matter how much they want to, they just can't be the West."

"The Crucible," Farfarello affirmed, then fell silent.

"Mmm." Schuldich watched the city and his expression was sly and satisfied, like the proverbial cat after having eaten the proverbial canary. "Such a delightful nest of wickedness. Want to explore it with me? Maybe tonight?"

"Crawford said to stay here," Farfarello told him tonelessly. He didn't particularly care about Crawford's orders, and he knew that Schuldich was even less concerned.

"Fuck Crawford," Schuldich said cheerfully, predictably. "Good and hard too, so the stick dislodges from his ass… I need some R and R." He ran his fingers down the glass pane now, cruel hunger flashing in his face as he looked over the city. "I need to taste New York."

"I want to go shopping," Farfarello told him, and Schuldich laughed.

"Sure thing, Farfie-chan. We'll go shopping, we'll catch a movie, and then we'll see what kind of underground club scene this pathetic excuse for a hive of scum and villainy has. You up for that?"

"I am up for anything," Farfarello informed him, and Schuldich smirked.

"Excellent."

X-X-X

They had gone shopping and they had seen the new Sinbad movie. They had spent most of the movie in the back, Schuldich loudly commenting on the movie and throwing popcorn at Farfarello as Farfarello eyed the screen and chewed thoughtfully on a needle.

And after the movie was over, after a quick stop back at the hotel to change into their new clothes, Schuldich dragged Farfarello downtown with him.

At present, they had descended into the sort of places Farfarello supposed reminded Schuldich of his childhood, a heavy, techno beat making his ribcage throb as dozens of bodies writhed together on a packed dance floor, the strobing lights and dim bar lighting the only available illumination. Farfarello was leaning against the edge of the bar, its metal railing biting into his hip. He could feel the pressure, but not the discomfort. His gaze was fixed on Schuldich as the German writhed on the dance floor, pressed between several bodies and skillfully grinding against all of them in turn. Schuldich was dressed in skintight leather pants and a mesh top, with a heavy collar around his neck. The perfect slave, red hair loose and flying, blue eyes sly and lined in black, flushed and beautiful. He looked, ironically, like a fallen angel, an Incubus who could lead anyone to their doom and keep them eager all the way.

Beckon them off the cliff and they will follow you, sing to them with your body and they will lust for you…

Schuldich caught those thoughts and sent Farf a smoldering, sultry look, beckoning with his eyes even as he slipped out from between a couple of the bodies. His message was clear: there was room, if Farfarello wanted it.

Farfarello didn't want it.

He had found new clothes that he was very pleased with, a sleeveless top of some thick and firm material, with a high collar almost like a priest's. It zipped up the front, and attached to the zipper was a large steel ring that rested against his chest. His pants had two straps across the back, and he liked the weight of them. Twin zippers up the shins allowed him a choice between a straight-leg and a boot-cut fit, and he had chosen straight-leg, so the zippers there and on each thigh glittered in the dim light, along with the rings and hooks attached to the waistband. His trademark bandage was still wrapped around his bicep, his fingerless gloves still on his hands, and he'd managed to hide about half a dozen knives in various places in the outfit.

Farfarello was very pleased.

So far, he hadn't attracted any attention, at least, any attention bold enough to saunter up and ask if he wanted to dance. Schuldich could wander onto a dance floor and instantly be surrounded by partners, but Farfarello preferred his solitude and he got it, lounging against the cool wood of the bar and idly drinking a beer Schuldich had insisted on ordering for him. All the devil's children . . he liked to watch them. Liked to watch them dance and writhe, bodies moving in senseless abandon, fucking, shooting up, drinking, all high on one thing or another. The club was a veritable mass of pheromones; no wonder Schuldich was so comfortable here. Those scents, they attracted Farf, but not so much that he would go and mingle.

Schuldich danced without break for almost four hours, and Farfarello refrained from ordering any more drinks after the first. After all, someone would have to make sure Schuldich made it back to the hotel in relative safety. The press of so many minds was hard on the telepath, and he was liable to dance himself into a dead faint. That was assuming he didn't get a hold of one of the many different escapes available on the market. Crawford frowned on drug use, and Schuldich rarely indulged in it, but on occasion… he slipped.

Just as Farfarello was beginning to become seriously impatient, he spotted Schuldich, flushed and sweaty, heading toward him.

"That was good," the German purred, brushing up against Farfarello deliberately as he demanded an Amaretto Sour. "You oughtta try it, Farfie, I seriously think you could--"

Schuldich's speech was interrupted as the telepath doubled over, hands pressed to his head, crying out in intense pain as a scream echoed throughout the mind of everyone in the bar, the cry of a telepath in trouble, very loud and close enough to be deafening. Everyone in the club collapsed under the brief onslaught, but then it was suddenly over. In the instant that most of the patrons were still doubled over, Farfarello caught sight of a dark figure moving quickly toward the rear exit. When Schuldich straightened, he seized Farfarello's arm and headed toward that exit as well.

"Come on," he hissed, and Farfarello followed silently as Schuldich dragged him through the heavy steel door and into the alley behind the club. His power cloaked them, making them invisible to the minds of the people in the alley, and Farfarello was given a moment to survey the scene.

There were five players on this small stage. Three were dressed in suits, their eyes blank and devoid of personality. One of the suits was holding onto a handsome young man with platinum blonde hair and sky blue eyes, wide with terror. The suit had his hand to the boy's forehead, and whatever he was doing was causing the boy to cry out and convulse.

The last player was a small female in her late teens, dressed in black, with ebony hair tumbling around small, bare shoulders. She was in a half-defensive, half-aggressive position, obviously enraged, but too terrified to actually attack. Schuldich tilted his head and narrowed his eyes appraisingly, then elbowed Farfarello. "Give me a knife."

Slender fingers slid into his vest-like top and produced a blade about eleven inches long, serrated near the base, with a flat hilt and no guard. Schuldich took a step toward the girl and flipped the knife, dropping his shield and presenting her with the knife, hilt-first. She started when she saw them, and the three suits took notice.

Schuldich's tone was wicked. "If you have something to protect," he said silkily, "take the knife."

Perhaps he was expecting her to balk when faced with an actual weapon, or the prospect of killing someone. Instead, eyes so dark they were almost black flicked up to meet Schuldich's and she seized the knife out of his hand. The light behind the boy telepath's eyes was fading fast. Farfarello was mildly impressed when she screamed, a coughing, panther-like roar, and charged the suit holding the boy.

One small hand reached out and Farfarello felt the backwash of a biokinetic as he reached out with the power of his mind to freeze the girl in mid-motion. But she pushed through it, showing remarkable will in the face of such power, and while her empty hand seized the boy by his thick blonde hair and jerked him forward out of the biokinetic's grasp, she slammed the knife toward the suit's torso.

The boy crashed to the ground and metal imbedded in flesh with a sound like wet hamburger dropped on a sidewalk, a sort of squelching sound Farfarello was highly familiar with. The suit staggered as the other two moved to help and the girl tangled her legs in the suit's, knocking him down. Once on the ground, she slammed the knife into his heart and he ceased to move even as a female suit reached out toward her forehead.

How risky it was to touch these creatures, Farf didn't know. But the girl's hand wrapped around the female suit's wrist and jerked her forward as she drove the knife up into her throat, straight through the spinal column. She whirled, breathing hard through gritted teeth, a familiar rage in her almost-black eyes.

The third suit held a firearm to the head of her companion.

She shrieked, a sound of rage that caused Schuldich to raise an irritated hand to his ears, and leaped for the gun. It went off and blood splattered from the far side of the boy's torso. A flesh wound, it would go straight through and be easily fixed if they got him to a hospital immediately. But Farfarello's mind wasn't on the wound. He was fixed, staring with lips parted in awe, at the young woman who had bowled the third suit over and was now straddling its chest, slamming the knife repeatedly into it and making the noises of a wild animal, growls and snarls. The suit's body convulsed and eventually was still, but she continued to bloody the corpse, raking the knife through the soft tissues of the body as blood spattered across flawless alabaster skin.

Schuldich smirked and sent out a mental probe. Don't you think you ought to see to your friend?

Her head jerked up and she twisted, catlike. But then her expression of bloodlust faded into dismay and she scrambled to the body of her friend. "RAY!" she snapped, waving a hand in front of his eyes, then slapping him hard across the face. "RAY! Wake the fuck up! Shit…." She laid the knife down and checked his wound, the blood pumping out through it, staining the sidewalk and leaving him pale. Her eyes fixed on Schuldich. "Call 911," she snapped at him, but he merely laughed.

He stopped when Farfarello extracted Schuldich's cell phone from his pocket and started to dial.

"Farf," Schu said incredulously, "what are you doing? They can trace that!"

Farfarello offered him the phone mutely.

Schuldich made a disgusted sound and took it. "What? Yeah. We're behind the Bloody Sunset. Somebody shot this kid and it's a real mess. You know where it is? Good, because there's three dead. Don't worry though. They're the bad guys." Despite the woman's annoying request for him to not hang up, he snapped the phone shut.

The girl was crouched over the body, swaying and mumbling under her breath.

"You might want to go before they find you here," Schuldich said conversationally. "Unless, of course, you don't want to abandon your friend." He sneered at that, but the girl ignored him. Farfarello took one step forward and knelt on the opposite side of the body, curious.

"Oh, gracious Lady of the moon, grant me now this simple boon…."

And Farfarello's lips spread in a smirk as her hands, pressed to the wound, glowed with a dark light so faint it might have gone unnoticed had he not been looking for it. A witch. She was a witch. Enemy of God.

What a night.

X-X-X


	2. Chapter 2

"I still don't see why we can't take him to a hospital," Schuldich muttered, sprawled lazily in the front seat of the car he and Farfarello were using for the night. It had a spacious back seat, which was a good thing, since the witch was back there with her friend's head in her lap, eyes closed in concentration as she put pressure on his wound.

"If we go to a hospital, the agents of The One will find us," she repeated, with a hint of sharpness in her tone. "And we won't survive the encounter."

"In that case, I don't see why we care." This was directed at Farfarello. The Irishman was driving the car. It had been he who had helped the girl get her friend into the back seat. It had been he who had insisted they bring the two American children back to Crawford for help. It was he who glanced now at Schuldich, the golden depths of his single eye as unfathomable as ever they were. Schuldich could have poked around in his head a bit, to see what the hell he was thinking, but he didn't venture into that abyssal pit unless he absolutely had to, or was just feeling adventurous (re: masochistic). So Farfarello's thoughts remained a mystery to him, which was how the Irishman liked it.

He did not have much trouble poking around in the mind of the girl in the back seat, but he didn't especially want to. Her concentration was amazing, and at present, her only thoughts were worry for her friend, Ray, boiling hatred at this One that surprised Schuldich with its strength, and the same words running through her mind over and over and over.

Goddess sacred, purest white, lend me now thy healing light.

Her hands were still glowing.

Schuldich hadn't noticed it until they were in the dark, confined space of the car, without quite so much direct light from outside sources. The girl was GLOWING, the space around her body shimmering if he looked at it just right, out of the corner of his eye. At her hands, where they covered the bullet wound, the glow was bright enough to see without visual tricks. It unnerved him more than a little. He had seen Healers during his time with Eszet, sometimes mere telekinetics who utilized their power at the cellular level to knit wounds and restart hearts. But this girl wasn't a Gifted, and he could sense that clearly. Her mind was somewhat organized like a Gifted's. She had Power and he could sense it. But she was not a Psion.

Farfarello parked behind their hotel and cut the engine, sliding from the front seat and yanking the back door open. Schuldich made an irritated sound and stood by as Farf and the girl struggled to get the unconscious boy out of the back, pulling out his lighter and a cigarette. The flame was a welcome smear of color against the blackness of the night. "Crawford isn't going to be happy," Schu said slyly, watching as the girl gave the boy up to Farfarello and let the stronger psychopath carry his dead weight. My, she was a trusting little thing, wasn't she?

"Why shouldn't he be?" Farfarello inquired dryly, turning toward the door and walking quickly as the girl jogged ahead to get the door, only to find that she had no pass key. Neither did Farfarello…. Schuldich was holding it. He made a tsking noise and sauntered up to them, taking his time and noting how the girl's eyes narrowed at him. He flashed her a blatantly seductive, devil-may-care grin before dropping his card into the slot.

The light turned green.

"We are bringing him another telepath," Farfarello explained as he slid sideways through the door and headed for the stairwell. "An unregistered one, isn't that correct? One Eszet hasn't touched. A gift."

"Eszet isn't GOING to touch him," the girl declared. She was grinning, but her eyes were hard and it looked almost more like a snarl. "You're with Eszet, then?"

"We're not Eszet," Schuldich told her, smirking as he opened the fire door onto their hall. "We're Schwarz."

X-X-X

As predicted, Crawford was not at all enthusiastic about having a bleeding, unconscious boy on his couch. But when Schuldich informed him that he was an unregistered telepath, Crawford allowed explanations to wait and set about dressing the wound. When the girl stepped up to watch him, he gave her an odd look, a look of confused familiarity, but he said nothing, just stitched up the bullet hole as skillfully as he was able and wrapped the wounds.

"What happened to him?" he inquired flatly, pushing his glasses up his nose and standing up as he went to the kitchenette to wash his hands of blood.

"He was attacked by The One," the girl said matter-of-factly, her tone as coldly efficient as Crawford's. "They drained him. I don't know if I saved him in time or not, but I'm sure we'll all know in a few hours. If he doesn't come back..." She shrugged and Schuldich could feel her chest tighten in private grief. "I'll take care of him. You won't have to."

"What, exactly, is The One and how did they 'drain' him?" Crawford asked as the water ran red into the sink and he rubbed his hands together with methodical, practiced motions.

"That's a bit of a long story," she said quietly.

"Well, we have nothing but time," he pointed out, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. Then he stepped away from the sink and pushed his glasses up again, appraising her with just the barest hint of a superior smirk on his face. "Forgive me, I've been very rude. My name is Brad Crawford. This is my team, called Schwarz, and this is Schuldich and Farfarello."

Schuldich winked and Farfarello just watched her mutely, eye narrowed in thought.

"There is one other member of my team, Naoe Nagi, whom you'll meet shortly if I'm not mistaken. And you are?"

She took this information in and nodded quietly, remarkably calm given her tender age and the fact that she had just killed three people and almost watched her friend die, had held his bleeding body to herself while throwing their survival to the whims of strangers. "I'm Sabbath," she said with clipped efficiency. "That's Ray. We're Inconnu."

Schuldich was confused, but Crawford nodded knowingly. "I see," he said, motioning her to a nearby chair. "Have a seat, won't you? And tell me this long story about the people who attacked you. I have a feeling I'll be very interested to hear it."

She let herself be herded and perched on the chair, legs folded beneath her, elbows propped on her knees as she watched them from between hunched shoulders. She was very, very lovely, Schuldich noticed, with classic features and large eyes that burned with life and intelligence. Her black hair was a dye job, but it didn't look at all out-of-place and complimented her flawlessly pale skin perfectly. Her eyes were outlined with black in the tradition of most Goths, but her lips were unpainted. She was slim and nicely curved, her hands small but with slender and dexterous fingers, all her bones finely structured. As she sat curled over herself on that expensive armchair, Schuldich was given the impression of a wolverine. Yes, she was small, but he had seen her explode in fury to snarl and tear and shred. Coiled power was written through the lines of her frame, barely-leashed violence in the depths of her eyes.

Sabbath.

X-X-X

Sabbath.

It was such a delightfully sacrilegious name, he couldn't help but note, as he hovered next to the window, eyes turned outward, ears pricked for the sound of her voice. She was an alto. She had a way of speaking that was delightfully full-throated, that came from her chest, that seemed capable in a moment's notice of becoming a growl or a purr or that feral, coughing scream. Right now, her voice was cool and methodical as she watched Crawford from under strands of ebony hair and told her story.

"As I'm sure you know," she began, brushing at those strands and watching Crawford, who watched her evenly from behind his mask of apathy and tasteful glasses, "Inconnu are psychics and paranormals who refuse to ally with Eszet. Or, as we see it, we are the free ones, the ones who won't sell our souls for power. There are other sects, most of which fight directly against Eszet, but we don't want a fight. We just want to live and be left alone. Ray is a telepath. Others in our Cell include a healer, a technokinetic, a pyrokinetic, and another telepath of slightly different caliber. We're from all over America, come together for one purpose: survival. There is safety in numbers, or so we've always thought.

"We've managed to avoid Eszet's hounds until now, and they don't have enough people to waste trying to take us alive. We'll fight to the death for our freedom: that's the very point of being Inconnu. And we'll fight to the death for the freedom of our comrades. We thought Eszet was the only real threat to us, until some of us started to disappear, and a few who managed to escape snatch attempts came back to us with stories of powerful Psions who behaved like a dead men's collective, who could tear your soul away with a touch and who had no personality behind their eyes. We're a paranoid group; we have to be to survive. That's what saved us, I think."

She glanced at Ray, who's breathing had lost it's slight gurgle and steadied, and went on.

"We took the rumors seriously and started moving only in groups and trying to track down these elusive dead-Psions-walking. But always, someone would be arrogant or someone would get caught by fate, and that someone would vanish. And then one night, down at Hunt's Point, in The Bronx…." She looked up at Crawford, eyes narrowed as her lips pulled back in a delicate snarl. "They attacked a group of Psions. We think they pooled all their people. They had to, at that point, to outnumber the Black Dog Cell three to one. The Black Dogs fought with everything they had. The morgue has bodies to prove it. But they lost and they were absorbed.

"Once the Black Dogs fell, it wasn't safe even to move in groups anymore. Cells combined for the sake of strength, everyone lived in fear. And Cell after Cell fell to these Psions. We knew nothing about them and we couldn't defend ourselves, until one of our number took a huge risk. He was an Empath, a very powerful one, and he had a second gift: minor healing abilities. He set himself up as bait and let the dead-Psions get close to him, and then, while his Cell ambushed them, he made contact with one of the Psions and penetrated his mind. He managed to escape with the information he'd gotten, long enough to make sure it would be spread throughout our numbers, but his Cell was slaughtered in the struggle to let him escape. Once he'd seen his information safely into our hands… he committed suicide."

"Well, that was stupid," Schuldich said scathingly. "Was it that harrowing of an experience? One thing I can say for Eszet…. It gives us a spine worth mentioning."

She gave him a dry look. "Actually, his lover was among those slaughtered. He chose to be with him in death rather than try to go on without him."

"Love," Schuldich snorted, but a look from Crawford silenced him.

"Please," he said politely to Sabbath. "Go on."

She nodded. "The dead-Psions called themselves The One. Cheesy 'Matrix' quote, we thought when we first heard it, but it's more than that. These people have no individual personalities; they have no souls. Have you ever seen Star Trek?" she asked Crawford, who nodded. "They're the psychic version of the Borg Collective. And they even do assimilation, 'resistance is futile' speech and all. They can absorb you by attaching their mental collective to your mind. On the weaker psychics, they can sometimes do this from a distance, but for the Inconnu, who have learned by necessity to be strong, they have to be close enough to touch. Here," she said, laying a slender finger on her forehead, above the bridge of her nose. "The Third Eye, the seat of psychic power. Once they touch you, they begin to drain you of your will, of your personality. The only thing left is your power and your body, to be used by the Collective (as we've started calling them) as they see fit. Once they start the drain, your body seizes up, paralyzed. Otherwise believe me, there would be no One because we would have kicked their asses into the harbor the instant they dared to lay hands on us." She shook her head in chagrin.

Crawford absorbed that information with his usual grace. Farfarello, standing by the window, heard what he was certain Crawford did not. There was something about The One that struck him as truly evil, truly base. It wasn't the malicious, gleefully wicked evil of Schuldich, or the fiery, raging evil of Farfarello himself. It wasn't the sleek and collected evil of Crawford, or the power-mad evil of Eszet. This was an evil that was cold, dead, insectile in its behavior and rotting in its plots. It was like a corpse staggering free from a grave, infecting other corpses. Like a collective of psychic vampires of European legend.

It was insidious. He did not like it.

"In any case, the rest of us have pretty much gone into hiding. The entire group, we've discovered, is strung together with telepaths and empaths, with their most powerful telepath serving as a 'core', or to continue the Borg analogy, the Queen. Hell, it's been postulated that by destroying the Core, we would send the Collective into a sort of frenzy in which they would easily be picked off, but we don't know where their base is or where their Core is. Only that there IS a Core. Rasce made that very clear before he died."

"This Collective," Crawford said silkily, fingers entwined in front of his mouth. "Do you think it poses a significant threat to Eszet?" His eyes flickered toward Schuldich, and Farfarello knew what the American was telling the German: scan her mind, tell me if she lies.

Sabbath shrugged. "At present, no. Eszet is a world-wide organization with Power the likes of which these bumblebees couldn't hope to challenge. But there has to be some intelligence behind them. They've only been going after Inconnu, and it has to be because they know we have NO resources and no real numbers to amass against them. They're picking us off to swell their ranks. Once that is done, it would make sense if they went after the smaller splinter sects and then, finally, took on Eszet."

Schuldich's cat-like eyes narrowed, and Farfarello turned away again, not needing to see the telepath to hear his voice echo.

She's not lying. That doesn't mean she's right, since she's just speculating, but she believes in her speculations.

"In any case," Sabbath continued, "we've been trying to keep our telepaths away from them. A telepath's mind can only support so many connections, so the more telepaths they gain, the more growth they're capable of. Ray here… is one of the last left in the city."

"If he's so valuable, what were you doing at that club?" Schuldich inquired suspiciously.

"Crystal Meth," she replied flatly. "Some of our Psions are strong enough that their powers are literal torture; the drugs are the only things that can give them a bit of relief from the torment."

Farfarello felt Schuldich stiffen slightly and his eyelashes dropped. Schuldich had sold his soul to Eszet for silence in his head, or so he often claimed. He knew life had been hell on the telepath before he was taught to shield his mind, driven constantly insane by the mental chatter of thousands of people that he simply couldn't block out.

"I took Ray along because our cash was running low. As you know, telepaths can often mess with people's minds besides just reading them, and we needed him to… convince… the dealer to give us a better price." She gazed bitterly at the prone body on the couch. "If he dies, we paid far too much."

Schuldich stepped forward and searched the boy's pockets and loose jacket, and found several bags of small, clear crystals. He held these up to Crawford, who nodded at him to replace them and leaned back, crossing his legs and eyeing Sabbath like the god who could grant all her wishes.

Crawford was just as power-hungry as god. Sometimes, Farfarello thought he wanted to BE god. Foolish, since God's downfall was imminent. The Liar just didn't know it yet.

"Your story is very concerning to me," Crawford began, and Farfarello pressed his cheek to the cool glass pane, tuning out the rest of his speech. He caught the important parts; Crawford thought that the issue was grave enough to prompt Schwarz's involvement. He would check with Eszet for permission. No, of course he wouldn't mention her name. He would attempt to honor the secrecy of her friends, since there was a larger threat to deal with here, and he wanted cooperation on both sides. Yes, they would be vigilant over her friend and do all they could to help him. She should stay with them tonight, so that she could be assured that her friend was in good hands. She could use their phone to call her friends to tell them where she was, and tomorrow he, Crawford, would accompany her to deliver the highly important drugs to those who needed them.

At this, Sabbath protested. "No," she said quietly. "No offense, but we have few enough safe houses as it is, and while I'm indebted to you and grateful, I don't trust you. My comrades' safety comes first."

"You can't go back alone," Crawford pointed out, and she nodded.

"I know." Black eyes raised and Farfarello felt them light upon him. He turned and met her gaze, stroking the window as though it was a pet cat of which he was fond.

"Send Farfarello with me," she said firmly, turning back to Crawford.

"You trust him?" Crawford seemed deeply amused.

"He's the only one with interest in this situation beyond his own well-being," she pointed out. "He's also the only one here who doesn't look at me as though I'm a tool just WAITING to be used." She glanced at Schuldich and smirked. "Or exploited."

"Well, he's insane," Crawford said matter-of-factly, but he nodded. "As you wish. Farf will accompany you and make certain you aren't harmed. I'll send for a cot so you can stay with your friend," he offered generously.

"Thank you. That's very courteous."

Farfarello noticed she did not say "kind". As it was, her choice of words was chillingly appropriate. Farfarello had never seen Crawford be 'kind', though he suspected that Nagi, once in a while, had.

As Crawford went to request a cot from the front desk, Schuldich made a snorting sound and went to the refrigerator to retrieve something carbonated. "You're all insane and I still don't see why any of this matters to US," he said scathingly, smirking at Sabbath as she tilted her head and smirked back at him. "America's problems aren't Tokyo's, and aren't Schwarz's."

Sabbath snickered at Schuldich. "You don't believe that. This is a world connected by wires and radio waves. A butterfly beating its wings in Brazil causes a typhoon in India. Everything everyone does affects everyone else, and if you think this problem is too small to spread, I could introduce you to a few cancer victims who would set the record straight."

"All of our problems are all of our problems," Farfarello told him sagely.

She shrugged and nodded. "In a word… yeah."

Schu shook his mane of fiery hair and snorted. "Yeah, the web of life, isn't that the phrase? You New Age fanatics are all fucked in the head." He sauntered off toward his room.

"Says the sensation-junky telepath?" Sabbath shot back at him, rolling her eyes. "Pot, kettle, black."

Schuldich's slamming door was the only reply.

Sabbath drew in a slow breath and let it out, dark eyes focusing on Ray's comatose body as she sat hunched in her chair. His chest rose and fell steadily, but he didn't look peaceful. His face was drawn in pain. He really was handsome, Farfarello noticed, like the classic portrayal of an angel. Thick platinum hair, such clear blue eyes, tall and muscled and purely wholesome-looking. Not at all like Schuldich. It seemed impossible that the two had the same power, suffered the same torment. There were no needle tracks on the boy's inner arms, he noticed. This one didn't use drugs. Perhaps he wasn't a powerful telepath, or perhaps he had somehow taught himself to shield his mind. The silence stretched into cold infinity, and Farfarello finally broke it, padding silently over to stand behind Sabbath's chair. She jumped when he spoke to her and drew in a quick breath… such a human reaction.

"Why did your parents name you Sabbath?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, then snorted. "My parents," she said scathingly, "were snake-handling Southern Baptists. A bit far north for them – I was born in Cleveland – but that's what they were. I was born on Sunday, so I suppose they thought that was spiritually significant. You know, born on the Lord's Day? So they named me Sabbath." She shook her head knowingly. "I mean, it must have gone right over their heads that millions of babies are born every Sunday, and that Sunday isn't even the Sabbath – Saturday is the Sabbath. So I'm nothing special."

"If you're Gifted, you are special," Farfarello pointed out, but she shook her head.

"No," she said, confirming what he'd thought of her from the beginning. "I'm not Gifted."

"Because you are a witch," he said slowly, watching her as she twisted to drape herself over the arms of the chair.

She nodded. "My power is different. Magick is real, Farfarello. I like your name, by the way. Taken from Dante's 'Le Comedia Divina', isn't it?"

He nodded slowly.

"I thought so. But anyway, yes. Psychic power is scientific; it can be measured, controlled through means of chemicals and charts, it's passed on through genes. Magick isn't like that. Sometimes we get mixed up, but I'm a witch and no Psion. The One can still absorb me, make no mistake about that, but once they did that, they would just have a body with no Power to go with it." She let out a slow sigh. "And they can't combat magick. Which would be a great thing if there was more I could DO against them. But spell work takes time, and spells are subjective, and I can't throw a fireball down the street. I work in coincidence, in twisting the threads of fate, and it's hard to direct that power in combat. Nearly impossible. Takes creativity."

She was rambling but he did not mind. There was a simple frankness in her voice that he liked. His parents and Sister Ruth had always spoken of witchcraft as though it was highly mysterious and taboo, as if speaking the word "witch" could make you a witch. In all the Bible, witchcraft was the only sin never pardoned or forgiven. But Sabbath spoke of it like Crawford spoke of his precognition: with reverence and comfortable familiarity.

"You can heal," he pointed out, eyeing Ray, but she shook her head.

"No. Any doctor would look at what I did and say it's impressive, but coincidental. His bleeding stopped…. well, he must have a high metabolism and responsive immune system. He came out of physical shock quickly – same reason. I sped nature along, infused him with some of my strength, but that's all I did." Her voice took on an exhausted tone. "And I'm half afraid that if I go to sleep, it'll fade."

Before he could respond to that, Crawford opened the suite door and wheeled in a small mattress on a rolling cart, the cot he'd promised for Sabbath. She stood, the rings and buckles on her pants making quiet metallic music as she did, and he pushed the cot to the arm of the couch. "Please make yourself comfortable," he offered. "I'm going to bed." He gazed meaningfully at Farfarello, who turned and headed quietly toward his room, where he knew his straightjacket awaited.

The cot creaked behind him. Crawford was at his elbow.

"Do me a favor and stay where you're supposed to this time," the Oracle said a bit testily as he jerked the buckles tight, binding Farfarello's arms to his sides with criss-crossing leather straps. "Schuldich will only get you into trouble if you continue to follow his lead. He's irresponsible and he has absolutely no concern for our integrity as an organization."

Farfarello let him scold, not even listening. And as Crawford finished binding him and he flopped onto his bed, he didn't hear the shouting match that began in the next room as Crawford took his differences up with Schuldich. He focused his senses and heard only the quiet humming of a female voice. Before too long, the shouting match ended, and because his room was closest to the main room, he could hear the singing. She had a nice voice, if not a wonderful one. Accurate in pitch, full in tone, though she struggled a bit to switch from chest voice to head voice where the song required.

"Satan, you know where I lie….Gently I go into that good night. All our lives get complicated, search for pleasures overrated, never armed our souls for what the future would hold, when we were innocent…."

He wondered if the use of such a gift as singing, which was meant to praise God, to shout his glory to the heavens… how like an arrogant God, to create beauty of voice purely so that it could be devoted to his pleasure… caused God pain when used in such a way. He didn't recognize the song. Schuldich would, Schuldich loved American music and listened to it constantly along with guttural German techno that Farfarello found gave him a headache.

"Angels, lend me your might! Forfeit all my lives to get just one right…. All those colors long since faded, all our smiles are confiscated. Never were we told what the future would hold when we were innocent…"

Innocence. He contemplated it, bundled into his restraints, cast aside on a fully-dressed mattress. He was not innocent. He'd given up his innocence long ago, in every sense of the world. He lived to hurt God, existed to take revenge on The Liar for the deaths of his family in which he had been an unwitting accomplice. Schuldich's entire life, even his name, was a blatant bird flipped to the concept of innocence. 'Schuldich'. 'Guilty', in German. Crawford? He let out a soft chuckle at the very idea. No, only Nagi still possessed a bit of that innocence. He believed that the boy on their couch still did. There was innocence and angelic light in his face.

"This prayer is for me tonight…. This far down that line and still ain't got it right…."

And Sabbath, the pretty, shadowed witch? There was a certain innocence, he felt, contained in her passion. In the way she hid nothing and was, in no way, false. All her feelings were there to read in her eyes, all her intentions. No, that wasn't innocence. That was… honesty. The quality for which Farfarello hungered most, and had never found.

"And while confession's not yet stated, our next sin is contemplated. Never did we know what the future would hold, or that we'd be bought and sold when we were innocent."

He decided that he liked the song. He decided that he liked Sabbath. And as the dim lights of the city, which eclipsed the moon, filtered in through his window, he decided that in a way she was symbolic. As a once-devout Catholic, Farfarello placed high value on symbols.

He fell asleep and dreamed of demons, dancing in summoning circles with witches, and of the fires that consumed the enemies of God.

X-X-X


	3. Chapter 3

A two story, derelict house. That was what they stood before now, Farfarello holding himself slightly off-kilter like a puppet with his strings cut, Sabbath with one hip cocked and her arms folded across the swells of her chest. She gave Farfarello a sidelong glance, humming something under her breath that he vaguely recognized as belonging in Schuldich's music library, but he merely stood, head tilted at an odd angle and single eye narrowed in thought as he took in the house.

Abandoned, windows boarded up, façade crumbling, and yet there was life inside hidden from the outside world. Farfarello had spent a good deal of his life, short as it had been, in insane asylums. This house… it brought those years back to him in force. He could still see the vacant-eyed stares of the judged, of those condemned by God to lose that thing most precious, their sanity. It was a gruesome punishment, to be insane and to know that somewhere, once, you were an ordinary man. Once you were able to think, and you knew you should still be able to think, but the gears and clockwork of the mind were fractured and there was no connection between who you were and who you had been.

This, like the asylum, was a madhouse. Brothel of the walking dead.

When Farfarello finished his examination and fixed his gaze on Sabbath, the witch smirked knowingly at him, dark eyes narrowing in cat-like appraisal. Without a word – she seemed to have discovered his preference for silence – she turned moved to the side of the house, pushing open a broken gate and stepping onto the pitted, sparse grass of the yard. Farfarello followed her and soon they were overshadowed by the wild bushes, grown out of control since the owners of this place departed. Bleeding heart bushes clung to the remains of a chain link fence and there, near the base of the fence, he saw a pinwheel, made of plastic that had once been brightly colored in reflecting blue and green. It didn't spin now. It simply stood, stuck in the ground, left perhaps by a child who had tired of the toy or forgotten it in the hurry to leave this place. Forlorn and alone, mud-stained and wind-battered and tilted at a crazy angle in the dirt.

My God, my god, his thoughts whispered to him. How many have you forsaken?

"This is hardly the most secure of places," Sabbath said quietly as she bent to unlock a padlocked cellar, the heavy wooden doors grayed by time, the hinges rusted. "But as I said, we have no resources to speak of. When The One came after us, those of us with families were forced to leave them or risk their lives." The padlock snapped open and she slipped the key back into a zippered pocket. Then she drew back a small fist and pounded on the door.

An answering pounding came a moment later, and Sabbath bent to whisper at the crack, a password of sorts, apparently. There were rumbling, creaking sounds, and she stepped back so that the doors could swing open outward.

Hands were the first thing Farfarello saw, gripping the edges of the splintered wood. They were dark and stained with grease, knotted and calloused. Strong, male hands. Sabbath grabbed one of the doors and hauled it outward, and the owner of those hands ascended the cellar steps.

He was built like a slab of granite, gracefully boned, but powerfully muscled. Only an inch or two taller than Sabbath herself, his skin was a delicious coffee tone, his hair silken, black, and cropped short so that it stood up in unruly spikes and fell over his coal-black eyes in front. Those eyes smoldered dangerously and Farfarello wondered if this was the pyrokinetic she'd spoken of. He wore only a pair of battered, grease-stained jeans, his chest bare and rippling, and in his right nipple was an iron ring piercing. There were two matching ones in his left ear and one in the same eyebrow, and a short bracelet of thick chain links around his wrist.

His voice was low, growling, and gruff. "Sab. Who the fuck is that?"

"This is Farfarello," Sabbath told him briskly, her tone firm. "Farfarello, this is Griss. He's our technokinetic."

Farfarello tilted his head and smirked at this…. Griss. Griss appraised him right back, obviously sizing him up, his frame tense. Then those black eyes flickered to Sabbath and he made a face something like a snarl. "He's one of us? Looks the part, that's for-fucking-sure…."

Sabbath smirked. "Well, he's a paranormal, if that's what you mean, but he's not Inconnu." She waved Farfarello inside and he followed obediently, smirking as Sabbath waited until they were inside and Griss was closing the doors behind them before she clarified. "He's Eszet."

"THE FUCK?"

Sabbath waved a hand at his disbelieving growl. "Close the doors. I'll tell you all about it when we have everyone in the same room. And make sure that door's secure, Griss. I ran into The One last night."

Griss's eyes narrowed, then narrowed further. "Where's Ray?" he demanded as he slid a number of bolts into place and shoved his hands into his pockets, sauntering down the stairs toward them. His easy stride fooled no one; he was a cougar, desperate to maul something.

"He's safe," she reassured him, pausing and catching Farfarello by the bicep so that she could regard Griss quietly. "The One drained him partially and… we aren't sure if he's still there. But until we know, Eszet is watching over him, and I have their word that they'll keep him safe."

"Their word." Griss let out a chuckle and shook his head. "Their word. This is fucking ESZET we're fuckin' talkin' about here, Sab! Have you lost your fucking MIND?"

"He'll be safe," Farfarello said quietly, and Griss's flaming black eyes snapped to him as the smaller Hispanic man snarled. "What use is an unconscious telepath to us? And we are not Eszet. We are Schwarz."

"So you've said," Sabbath said soothingly, dragging him toward the stairs at the other side of the cellar. Surprisingly, they went down instead of up, though Farfarello could see a door set in the wall above them. They had apparently torn out the staircase and built another. What might be hidden under this house? Was it any cleaner, any neater, than its façade?

They descended the stairs and Farfarello craned his neck to look around, though there was nothing to look at aside from damp wood and flaking plaster. Behind him, Griss's step was a quiet, warning scuffle, and Sabbath's, beside him, were cat-quiet. At the bottom of the stairs was a well-lighted room and Sabbath went first into it, prompting a murmur of human voices that drew Farfarello down as well.

The carpet was ratty and a hideous shade of orange, the couches were brown corduroy, and the only other furniture was a battered card table. There was a stove in the corner of what had once been a basement apartment, though why it had been attached to a cellar was beyond him, a sink, and some cabinets, and a small TV sitting on a cardboard box in front of the couch. And there were people, sprawled around on the three couches, engaged in various activities. Four of them, five when Griss found a seat next to a tom-boyishly built Hispanic girl with thick ringlets of black hair and baby-doll features.

One, an exquisitely beautiful young woman with long, straight black hair, flawless pale skin, and eyes such a piercing ice blue they seemed to lower the room's temperature when they fixed on Farfarello, stood quietly and nodded.

"Sabbath. We were beginning to worry."

"Fuck 'beginning to'," the Hispanic girl shot back, glaring daggers at Sabbath. "Where ya been, chica? The Auspex Cell sent their rep." She jerked a thumb toward a somewhat pretty, if highly unkempt, young woman perched on the arm of the couch. This one wore a battered trench coat and sunglasses, and was calmly smoking a cigarette. She was the oldest in the room, and Farfarello put her at about twenty-five. She turned and he saw that, like everyone in the room except for the blue-eyed girl, this one had black eyes. And they were full of shadowed insanity.

"Sabbath." The word was accompanied by a grin. "You get the stuff, cherie'?"

"Of course," Sabbath told her, pulling the confiscated Meth from her pockets and handing most of it over to the woman. "Distribute it fast. I'm sorry I'm behind, but I was attacked by The One."

"Mais non, ain't that always the way?" The woman stood and flicked cigarette ash at Sabbath. "Merci, ma 'tite chatte. You take care now, ya hear?"

"I'll do that," Sabbath said coolly. "Griss, show her out?"

Griss muttered under his breath, but obeyed, and Farfarello was left standing next to Sabbath under the scrutinizing gazes of what he could tell were assembled Gifted. "Well," Sabbath said finally, smirking at him. "Farfarello, allow me to introduce the Ebon Cell. This isn't as many as we had before The One started picking us off, and Katerina here is actually the only surviving member of Antithesis Cell." She motioned to the blue-eyed girl, who nodded gravely, sitting formally with her hands folded in her lap. "Ladies and gentleman, this is Farfarello. He's a representative of Schwarz, which is an affiliate of Eszet."

"What the FUCK?" the Hispanic girl snarled, though the rest of the room remained fairly calm.

"Eszet, hm?" The voice was as smooth as black velvet and came from a lithe, black-clad form stretched out another couch. Another set of black eyes…. Farfarello hadn't known there were this many ebony gazes in the world, all different, all uniquely expressive. "Don't tell me high and mighty Eszet's taken an interest in the plight of mere Inconnu…" This gaze was amazingly like Schuldich's, arrogant and sly, with sexuality strung throughout every twitch and gesture, hidden behind strands of long hair so black it shone with rainbow highlights.

"That's Fell," Sabbath told him. "Our resident Fallen Angel and our other telepath."

Farfarello could believe it. He could sense the evil in this one; it was almost as strong as his beauty.

"And that's Jordan," Sabbath continued, pointing to the Hispanic girl, "and that's Katerina." She indicated the solemn, blue-eyed girl. "Jordan's our pyrokinetic and Katerina is a healer and kinteticist."

Farfarello couldn't do much of anything aside from nod at the moment, so he did that.

"Ray?" Katerina asked quietly, her voice emotionless and arctic cold.

"The One drained him," Sabbath told her, "but only partially. Schwarz is looking after him at the moment, making sure The One doesn't reach him. I had to get back here with the delivery, and I had something to tell you." She took a deep breath. "Farfarello and his teammate saved Ray and me when The One cornered us. I told them what's going on, and they agree that if left unchecked, The One could become an actual threat to Eszet. They don't know yet, but they think… they might be given clearance to help us. And if they can, we should cooperate. They have a powerful telepath AND a precognitive, and they're trained agents. If we work with them, just for the time being, we might be able to find the Core and close The One down for good."

Well. She certainly got right to the point. Was she the leader of this small, motley group? The others seemed to defer to her, but then again, she had a powerful personality that commanded attention. Still, attention didn't necessarily mean respect. Farfarello let his hands hang at his sides as he waited for the group to move, to speak, to decide whether they would accept this offer or protest.

Fell was the only one who moved. He rolled off of the couch in a liquid ripple of black-covered muscle and prowled over to Farfarello, circling him slightly with a very familiar smirk on his face. He wore battered jeans and a black t-shirt that said on the front, "I do what the voices in my head tell me to do". It appeared that he also had Schuldich's sense of humor.

"You're sure he's Eszet?" Fell purred, passing behind Sabbath and flicking at her hair. "He's bursting with life. Most of their people are little better than trained puppets, hardened and used up."

"I was never trained by Eszet," Farfarello told him. "Schwarz found me, under Crawford's direction. They offered me a chance to hurt God if I would kill for them, and I agreed. But I am not Eszet, only Schwarz."

"Hurt God?" Fell let out a melodic laugh. "What's the point in that? God is dead, gorgeous…. God's been dead since man first killed in his name. Now we're all that's left to pray to, the Gifted, the new race!"

"Fuckin' A," Jordan grumbled, folding her arms and falling back onto the couch with what was probably meant to be a glare, but with her features and full lips, looked more like a pout. "Here we fuckin' go again."

"Inspiring speeches aside…." That was Katerina's voice, cutting through Fell's like a spear of ice. "We have a dilemma. You've risked our safety, bringing him here." She nodded toward Farfarello. Her tone contained no dislike, no judgment, just a simple statement of fact. She was like Crawford, but without his power-lust. No, Crawford could afford to take lessons from this young woman. She epitomized the idea of control, whereas Crawford's mask often slipped, especially when Schuldich provoked him.

"I know, but I believe it was necessary. We're dying too fast," Sabbath said passionately, pausing only to nod to Griss as he returned to them and fell onto the couch next to Jordan again. "The One has everything we don't have, including secrecy. They know who we are, they have weapons and numbers, they've found most of our safe houses. We are in trouble, boys and girls. We need help. It's that simple."

"Yeah, okay, but Eszet?" Griss sneered. "Fuckers have been after us since for-fucking-ever. Like they're just gonna leave us alone after this shit storm is all over?"

Sabbath shrugged. "One day at a time," she counseled. "We'll deal with that when… and if… we come to it." She shot Farfarello a look, but he simply shrugged. He had no idea what Crawford was planning, and he doubted that Crawford had any idea what Eszet was planning. "What we have to deal with now is the Collective. We might have a chance here, to hunt them down and kill them, if we take advantage of the resources and protection offered by Eszet and go for broke."

"Goin' for broke is all good and everything," Jordan said scathingly, "but how do we know Eszet ain't gonna turn on us in the field? They could wipe out The One all by themselves. What's to stop 'em from gettin' us all in one place and takin' out two birds with one stone?"

"We will," Sabbath said firmly. "Because we'll be ready for something like that." She turned to Farfarello. "Would you be willing to go sit upstairs for a while?" she asked politely, but with an undertone of command. "So we can talk in private?"

He nodded once, turned, and ascended the stairs. Finding himself back in the cellar, he wandered over to one of the corners and huddled in it, wrapping his arms around his knees.

They argued for the better part of an hour, but Farfarello was very patient when he wanted to be. Not once did he eavesdrop… spying was not his function. Instead, he did what he had done in the long hours of being locked in a small, padded cell, wrapped in a straightjacket, locked away. He thought.

Katerina. Jordan. Fell. Griss. Ray. Sabbath. This was… Ebon Cell? He found that ironic. Ebon and Schwarz, black on black. What was this hidden world of fear and hiding in rat holes, waiting in paranoia for the day you were taken by one of the many forces arrayed against you, surviving any way you had to? He had never known a world like this existed, a world even more secret than Eszet. How did they survive, how did they find each other?

God doesn't exist. It's only us now!

Was that what they believed then? That there was no maker, no one to blame for their troubles? Was that what strengthened them, their lack of belief in anything higher than themselves? Farfarello sometimes wondered what it would have been like if, in his childhood, he had lacked faith. Or maybe if he lost it now. How comforting must it be to put faith only in ones' self, to be accountable to no one, to be… free. It would have been tempting if he hadn't known the truth, that God was real and that his lies and his capriciousness had twisted the world, had deprived Farfarello of his family through his own cooperation. That was the worst part, being manipulated like a puppet. Being used. That was the Inconnu's grief with Eszet, was it not, that they did not want to be used? That they wanted their freedom, their choice?

Free will and the ability to choose was a gift of God's, another lie, because it was also the source of every pain. The One, in a way, took away that "gift" and made everything as it had been. Innocence, no knowledge of good or evil, just of what was at your fingertips.

What price, redemption?

No. This was not redemption. This was a lie as well, maybe a tempting one for some, but for Farfarello, it was laid bare for what it was. He had refused to submit to God's will any longer. He would not let the will of The Liar control him. Farfarello controlled himself, and in that, he saw a sort of kinship with these ragamuffin Psions. They fought against The One who sought to play God. They fought to be free of the strings.

A soft step at the top of the stairs announced Sabbath's presence, and she jerked her head at him. "We're decided," she said quietly. "Shall we?"

He unfolded from the wall and stood, following her toward the cellar doors. Griss had followed her up, apparently the keeper of the doors, and he let them out, his smoldering black glare following Farfarello out and into the sunshine.

X-X-X

Elsewhere in New York City, in a small, but expensive apartment in Greenwich, a phone began to ring. It stood on a small table next to a king-sized bed, under a lamp that had been switched off. The bed had a carved wooden frame and was draped in off-white silk sheets and a forest green comforter, strewn every which-way and barely covering the two figures sprawled across the mattress. The phone rang again and one figure groaned and stirred, calloused hand coming down on the back of the phone and lifting it from its cradle. It was a cordless, and his thumb searched for the "TALK" button and pressed it.

"Hello?" he murmured sleepily, black eyes flicking to the large windows that led to the balcony. Though they were draped with thick curtains and the blinds were shut, he could tell it was early afternoon outside.

His query was answered with a long, buzzing tone, followed by two quick beeps. His eyes widened and he sat up, checking on his bed mate quickly. Yuka was still asleep, long, silken black hair spread across his pillow, beautiful features serene in unconsciousness. He threw himself out of the bed and padded across the room, snatching a pair of boxers and jeans from the dresser before slipping out into the living room and shutting the door. Mercifully, he made it before the mechanical sounds on the phone were replaced by a distorted human voice.

"Aladriss. I'm glad I caught you at home."

"Max. Tell me you have a job for me. I'm bored off my ass." He spoke with cheerful enthusiasm he didn't feel as he struggled into his clothes, phone pinned between shoulder and ear. When his feet were safely on the floor and his jeans were buttoned, he sauntered to the fridge and extracted the orange juice.

"Then I'm glad to make your day," Max said dryly. "You sound a little thick, Cross. Did I wake you?"

"Doesn't matter," Cross told him graciously, pouring a large glass of cold juice and setting the carton back in the refrigerating unit. "I should have been up anyway. What can I do for you?" He leaned against the kitchen counter and took a sip, his throat opening immediately as thick, cold goodness caressed the inside of it.

"Actually, this is more of a favor to you," Max told him, and there was the muted sound of paper being shuffled. "You've got Eszet in town."

"Seeing as Eszet's been a fixture around New York for about two hundred years, I'm going to assume that there's something special about THIS Eszet," Cross told him dryly.

"Yes. And there is more than one; a team of assassins, posing as 'bodyguards' to Takatori Reiji. They are four in number and they are called Schwarz, and their presence in our country is of grave concern to the American branch."

"Four paranormals, hm?" Cross drained his glass and rinsed it under the faucet. "Who is this Takatori Reiji? Japanese name…."

"Schwarz usually terrorizes Tokyo, where they have had a number of confrontations with one of our other teams, Weiß. Weiß has tried admirably to deal with them, but Schwarz is highly deadly. As much as I hate to downplay the skill of that team, and they are one of our best in the eastern hemisphere, they only live because they've been lucky."

"Schwarz sounds like a group of bad-asses then." Cross's tone was unconcerned and he paced to the bank of windows, pulling the blinds up and letting warm, milky sunlight stream into the apartment and illuminate the cheerful openness and gentle earth tones of the arrangement. "But Japan and America do things a bit differently. What is it, exactly, that you want from me, and why is Schwarz here in the first place?"

"Takatori is a successful business tycoon," Max told him. "He has several American franchises. He's here to inspect them and clean house, and Schwarz is here to do his dirtiest work for him and protect him, should someone attempt an assassination when Takatori is not on his home turf. We don't expect you to be able to destroy Schwarz, though if you have an opportunity to take one or two of them out, feel free to try it. Keep an eye out, follow them, track their movements. We can't afford trouble with them on American turf, not with the terrorist scare still in effect, and believe me, where Schwarz goes, death and property damage follow."

"And here I thought assassins were supposed to be stealthy and silent," Cross shot back, rolling his eyes. "You want me to watch them? That's all? You have spies you could pay to do that, Max. I'm a killer, and I know you; if you're calling me at all, you expect me to off someone."

Max chuckled at the other end of the line and Cross couldn't hold back a smirk. "All right. Weiß has tried without success to neutralize Schwarz for several years. They won't be expecting an attack in America, where they are supposedly unknown. We're sending you some help. Do what you can to give Weiß a helping hand."

"What kind of help?" Cross frowned. He worked alone when possible, mostly because other Kritiker assassins often weren't equal to his skill and he would have to watch their asses in the field, which he hated. If they were going to try to put a team under him, he would protest, but Max's words laid his concerns to rest.

"We're sending Calan. I believe the two of you have worked together well in the past. Two against four is a set of odds we would like to improve upon…."

"NO," Cross said firmly. "No one else. Calan I'll work with. I don't have to keep an eye on him. But nobody else. We'll do our best, but we'll do it alone, and you don't have to pay us for what we don't manage."

"As you wish. He'll be arriving tomorrow afternoon, as will the dossier with all the information we currently have on Schwarz. Shall I assume you'll be home to sign for it?"

"Of course," Cross muttered. "Nothing else in the works."

"Excellent. Do us proud. And Cross….?"

"Yeah," Cross sighed, "I know. 'Try not to get killed'."

"Precisely. Good day."

Max hung up and Cross gave the phone a look of weary resignation before moving back into the bedroom and setting it down on its cradle. He shook his head and turned his gaze toward the window for a long moment, then breathed a sigh and headed back toward the bedroom and his sleeping lover.

Yuka was still asleep when Cross pulled the covers back and slipped back into bed beside him, rearranging the sheets into some semblance of organization. The smaller, slimmer boy turned over and made a little murmuring sound as one hand reached out and curled around Cross's waist. Cross smiled fondly and slipped down into the embrace of the sheets, wiggling closer to Yuka and dropping a kiss on his silken hair before resting his hand over Yuka's and letting himself drop off to sleep.

X-X-X


	4. Chapter 4

Sabbath tended to get herself lost in thought, and when those dark-chocolate eyes went black like that, Farfarello might have given something very precious to possess Schuldich's mind-reading powers. It wasn't that he was so interested in her mind, necessarily. It was that she was so deeply into whatever she was concentrating on that she didn't even notice he'd been dragging her by the arm for the last ten blocks or so, out of their way and not toward the hotel. Even though he made no effort to steer her around others, she did it automatically, slipping through the crowd behind him like a being of shadow. When they had to stop at a crosswalk, he shifted his grip from her upper arm to her hand. More maneuverability that way. She had very small hands, very fine-boned. Delicate. A clench of his fingers and he would feel those bones grinding together, a harder clench and maybe they would snap.

She didn't 'wake up' until he pushed open the door of a small café and tugged her inside with him. The warm orange and yellow of the walls seemed to draw her out of her stupor and she dug in her heels, stumbling when her resistance proved to be weaker than his momentum.

"Farfarello?" she asked sharply, and for a moment he thought it odd how her voice didn't sound like that of a waking dreamer. She hadn't awoken, she had snapped back to reality as though her consciousness was tethered on an elastic band. "What are we doing here?"

"I'm hungry," he told her simply, taking his place in line and ignoring the stares he got for his odd appearance.

She dissolved into a smile. "Gomen, Farf, you should have said something," she scolded, giving her head a good shake to clear it. He raised an eyebrow. Japanese?

"You were dreaming," he told her, stepping in closer and towering easily over her slight frame. "Where did you go?" His head was tilted curiously.

She rolled her eyes at him. "None of your business," she said, but there was a teasing tone in her voice that made it not-insulting. "Why here?" She looked around the small café.

"Soup," Farfarello told her candidly, turning to eye the menu.

She laughed. "Had a craving, hm?"

"I like chicken and wild rice soup." He glanced back at her, golden eye flashing. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Chicken and wild rice? Is it any good?" She slung her arm through his so that she could squeeze closer to see the menu. "Oh, goddess, portabella mozzarella sandwiches…." Her reason seemed to return to her and she faltered. "Um, Farf? Do you have any cash?"

Long fingers slid into his boot, past the hilt of his ever-present knife, and found the small stack of bills curled around his ankle. He counted the edges from the outside in and removed a twenty and a five. "Eszet's agents are well paid," he said flatly, and then he broke into a glittering, unsettling smile. "You will allow me to treat you to lunch."

"Was that an offer or an order?" She hiked and eyebrow and folded her arms, gazing at him with expectant amusement.

"Would you take orders from me, if I gave them?"

She considered that. "Probably."

"Then it is an order."

She laughed and shook her head. "If Crawford hadn't specifically told you to 'take good care of me' and feeding me didn't fall under that category, I would tease you mercilessly about asking me out on a date."

He shrugged. "Do as you like. Schuldich will anyway."

"I believe you," she said fervently, stepping up to the front of the line and placing her order with crisp efficiency; half of a mushroom sandwich, a bowl of soup, and a lemonade. Farfarello then absently informed the young cashier that he wanted three of the soup bread-bowls. She looked mildly surprised but did not comment, and that was probably a good thing. She didn't stare at him either, and that was a VERY good thing.

Sabbath carried her own tray as they went to sit down and picked a table in an uncrowded area, one that only seated two.

"Why 'Farfarello'?" were the first words out of her mouth when they sat down, and he was not altogether surprised.

"That's none of your business," he told her, faintly mocking her earlier tone, and she smirked. 

"Okay. Then it's none of my business. But I'm nosy and I want you to answer. Why an obscure demon from The Divine Comedy who is only mentioned once or twice?"

"Farfarello has many meanings," he explained, stirring his soup and carving down the walls of the bread bowl. "The demon was described as a vicious bird that tore at the flesh of its prey. I am that. Farfarello was also a hater of liars. I am that. And the name is often translated as 'evil ghost', a concept I somewhat resemble, as well as being mistranslated to mean leprechaun…."

"And you're Irish," she finished, nodding. "A highly appropriate choice."

He showed her his teeth in a barbaric sort of grin. "I think so."

"Do you ever use your real name?"

He felt a flash of anger, but it fled. She had not asked him what his name WAS, merely asked if he ever USED it. There was a difference.

"Only Schuldich and I still know it. He only uses it when he intends to irritate me and has forgotten the consequences of irritating me."

She nodded to that and settled down to pick all the onion slices off of her gooey, cheesy sandwich. Farfarello let her finish her sandwich and get started on her soup, allowing him time to eat one of his bread-bowls and finish half the other, before demanding, "Why did you renounce The Liar?"

She glanced up, slightly confused, and he clarified for her.

"God. Why did you turn on him?"

"Because he was an inflexible bastard with a stick up his ass who allowed for nothing fantastic and nothing magical in my world and tried to restrict me everywhere I turned. Freedom and Power. That's why I denounced Christianity and its God," she told him after a moment of thought.

"That's not the only reason," Farfarello accused, eye narrowing. "Tell me the whole truth."

She looked mildly surprised, then broke into a knowing smile. "You're good at that," she said simply, eating a bite of soup and brushing at her lips with the napkin. "I turned to The Craft because there was darkness in me that I was totally at peace with, and that was an insult to the Christian faith. There isn't supposed to be darkness in God's children if they are filled with the light of the Son. You know that as well as I do. The things I wanted to know, my rage and lust, my hunger… as a Christian, I would have to fight against those sides of my nature all of my life and be eternally tormented by them. Why should I do that? There is darkness in every human soul and my sins are a part of me. They don't hurt me. They don't suck me down into a vicious spiral from which there is no escape, like the counselors told me. They don't drown me… they are my life raft. Rage and bloodlust allowed me to kill those agents you saw when we first met, but love drove me as well. It all mixes, and it's a delightful brew, and emotions are power if only you know how to use them. I became a Witch because I wanted to live a life not ordinary. I wanted to feel the strands of fate under my fingers and twist them. I wanted to walk in magick and know all the ancient secrets there were to know. I wanted to embrace and be at peace with myself. And now I am, and GOD could never have done that for me. He would have me crawling through life on my knees, begging him for succor only so that he could pat me on the head and tell me that withholding his aid was his way of 'teaching' me. Teaching me longsuffering, teaching me patience, teaching me FAITH." She shook her head, eyes narrowed in loathing. "I have faith, thank you very much. And I have hope, and I have love. And I'm whole, not a part of me missing, everything where it is supposed to be. I am not a broken puppet on sackcloth strings."

Farfarello was grinning. He couldn't hold it back. Her hatred for The Liar did not rival his, no, but it was strong none the less, and venomous. And she hated him for good reasons, just not the same one he had. That was fine. There were many reasons to curse God. She saw his grin and offered him a hardened smirk that was almost a sneer.

"And you renounced God because he lies," she said simply, not needing to be told. "What did he lie to you about?"

"The Three Things," Farfarello told her solemnly. "Faith. Hope. Love. He made them all into lies for me and took them away from me." His lyrical accent gave beautiful cadence to his words. "And so I have replaced them with Desecration, Despair, and Hatred. These three things I will give him in equal measure until one of us goes crashing to the ground."

"You can't kill God," she said simply. "You have to know that, don't you? God is the essential animating energy of the universe. If you destroyed 'God', everything that is would cease to be."

He was about to snap at her, but she went on.

"No. You can't kill God, Farfarello. But you can sully his name if you like, destroy his image, cause him such pain that his heart twists and tear down everything precious and everything sacred to him. You can put a knife in his heart and twist. Don't argue with me, you know I'm right. Is that enough for you or are you really out to end everything? Or should I even ask?"

"All the world is made of lies," he told her sharply. "To bring it down would be the grand finale. And if that is what it takes, that is what I will do."

"You're ambitious," she said, and laughed. It was not a condescending laugh. If it had been, he would have torn her throat out where she sat and damn the consequences. No, this was a wry, resigned laugh, the laugh of one who knew the future and knew there was no changing it. He had heard Crawford chuckle like that, once or maybe twice.

He shrugged. "I am focused, and I hate. That is not ambition. That is… a driving goal. An obsession."

She smirked at him sultrily. "So tell me, devil," she purred, stirring her soup slowly and then licking off the spoon with small flicks of her tongue. She was only playing, so he smirked at her dramatics. "Are you obsessed… or possessed?"

"Both and neither."

They smirked blackly across the table at each other, her resting her elbows on the table and leaning daringly forward toward him, he leaning against the back of his chair with one arm hanging over it and playing idly with the stud in the chair leg. After a moment, they broke the stare mutually. It was not a contest, after all. Sabbath returned to her soup and Farfarello to his.

Compelling little witch. She was cunning and she danced a fine line with his temper. That might have irritated him into making plans to kill her under other circumstances, but her daring amused him. How far would it go, how deep would it extend?

How far would she trust him? It would be entertaining to find out.

X-X-X

Crawford wasn't irritated when they returned to the hotel, as Farfarello had anticipated that he might be. Instead he opened the door before Sabbath knocked and gave them a slow, knowing smirk, before courteously standing aside and letting Sabbath slip past him with a murmured greeting. He gave Farfarello an appraising look, which Farfarello ignored as he stepped into the room. Crawford's hand closed around his forearm and he stopped as the Oracle quietly shut the door.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Crawford shifted closer and spoke into Farfarello's ear. "Don't… become too fond of her," he murmured, his tone deadly and simultaneously amused. "She is a tool for us to use to prevent harm to Eszet. Nothing more."

"I am Eszet's tool," Farfarello said dully. "What does it matter what tools do when they're not in use?"

"You are MY tool," Crawford hissed. "You do as I say, you follow my orders. Keep that in mind, and go to your room."

Finding his wrist free, Farfarello stood right where he was, a slow smirk spreading across his face. Crawford might be precognitive, but his powers didn't precisely function as they were supposed to in regards to Farf. Even when he saw visions, Farfarello often moved too fast for the Oracle to react.

But he would not kill Crawford now. He needed a better excuse than the blood hunger that had just made itself known in the back of his mouth. Instead, he went to his room after having made it perfectly clear that if he didn't want to, he didn't have to. And he shut the door as Sabbath sat on the coffee table, next to her sleeping friend.

"Any change?" she inquired when Crawford made his presence known behind her.

"None," he said truthfully. "How long do you intend to wait?"

She thought that over for a moment, then said, "I don't. Give me a few hours. I'll see what I can do." She moved to the cot and lay down on her back, arms at her sides.

Crawford watched her with interest. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to go ask for some advice," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll tell you what I find out. It involves a nap, so even though I hate to impose, could you ask the others to keep it down?"

He hiked an eyebrow, then stood and straightened his glasses. "Certainly. But if I may ask… who's advice is it that you're seeking?"

"Hecate, mother of all Witches."

To his credit, Crawford didn't say a word.

X-X-X

Schuldich was mildly surprised when he emerged from his bedroom to find Sabbath lying on her back, hands at her sides, breathing quietly and looking for all the world like a vampire about to rise from her coffin. No one else was in the room. A curious brush against her mind showed activity, linear thought… not the stuff of dreams. What was she doing? Meditating? Odd posture for it, if she was. Schuldich slipped in closer and watched her carefully, becoming unnerved the longer he stared at that pale and serene face, utterly devoid of expression. Any minute now, his imagination whispered, those eyes would fly open blood red and she would hiss, showing fangs. Or so it seemed.

There was a footstep behind him. Crawford. Schuldich turned and the Oracle put a finger to his mouth, signaling him to remain silent. Schuldich hiked an eyebrow and resorted to mental communication.

What's going on? She's dreaming, but her mind is wide awake and clear.

Crawford smirked. I haven't the foggiest. All I know is that it somehow applies to her friend here, and whether she's going to have to kill him or not.

She expects to find that out in her sleep?

She said she was going to get advice. Crawford paused before elaborating. From the mother of all Witches.

Schuldich almost burst into laughter, but another signal from Crawford reminded him to shut up just in time.

The mother of all Witches? What is she on, a vision quest? He turned dark blue eyes at Sabbath and smirked slowly. I suppose I could always take a peek and see…

Don't disturb her, Crawford cautioned, but then he turned and moved away. Schuldich gave the girl lying on the cot an evil grin. There was a lot he could do without disturbing her. Kneeling, he pressed his fingers to her forehead, closed his eyes, and dove in.

When he opened his eyes, he was in an entirely different setting. To call his surroundings 'strange' would have been a gross understatement. It was night, a waning crescent moon providing milky, ghostly light through wispy clouds that meandered through the sky, matching the tendrils of fog that clung to the ground around his feet. Behind him, a fir tree forest stretched back, black and forbidding. He was standing on a wide dirt road that led out of that forest. Ahead of him, the road branched, one path heading back into the darkness of the forests and one vanishing into a broad field of tall, slightly bent grass. The behavior of the trees and the grass suggested a breeze, and a brisk one, but he couldn't feel it.

Looking down, he was somewhat surprised to find himself in a mesh shirt and leather pants. Clubbing gear, all black, in which he looked his most wild, his most seductive. Was that part of his imagination or Sabbath's? This had, after all, been what he had been wearing the first time she had seen him.

Standing where the roads forked was a woman who struck Schuldich as very odd in appearance, though at first he couldn't figure out why. Then he realized that where her head and body should have faded into sides and a back, there were instead two other faces to her. One, a middle-aged woman of great and terrible, dark beauty, faced him while the face of a young woman looked off down the path into the forest and the face of an aged woman looked off into the field.

Standing in front of this woman was Sabbath.

The young Witch was dressed in a sleeveless black robe that fell in soft folds around the contours of her body, belted at the waist with a black sash. Her hair was blowing in the phantom wind, and she turned when she saw him, face contorting with anger. She spoke, but he couldn't hear her, and he left his spot on the path to approach the crossroads, curious to hear what she had to say about this dream and his intrusion.

There was a small cauldron at the feet of the three-faced woman, which spewed the smoke around his feet, and a few other objects he could not identify. Sabbath interrupted his investigation.

"Schuldich," she said sharply, her tone imperious. "You aren't supposed to be here."

He sneered and started to tell her that he could be anywhere he damned well chose when the three-faced woman spoke. Unlike Sabbath's, her voice resounded with power, the voice of three people speaking at once. It seemed to fill the whole environment, inescapable, and it rocked Schuldich to his core. He had never believed in divinity before, not even in the God Farfarello hated so much. This was like hearing the voice of everything, like the whole world speaking, but not in a human voice.

"Let him come," She commanded. "He has the mark of the moon-touched, and all who seek answers are welcome at the crossroads." Her eyes fixed on Schuldich and suddenly he felt very, very small. His forehead was on fire as though someone had pressed a brand to the spot just above and between his eyebrows. "What is your name?"

"Schuldich." His gut clenched and he ground his teeth together. What was wrong with him? Why did he feel so rotten for lying, for giving her his assumed name instead of the one he had been born with? She assessed him quietly, and he knew suddenly with a certainty that she knew he was lying. He glared, not liking the imperiousness of her gaze, not liking being dressed down.

"Schuldich," she repeated. "You have come here unasked through the portal of my daughter's mind. What questions would you lay at my feet? Three questions, three answers, you shall have."

"I don't have any questions," Schuldich told her, scowling at Sabbath. This was her mess. She could get him out of it at any time. "I was just poking around. Your brain activity was odd," he told the Witch, and she rolled her eyes.

"That's what happens when you dream walk," she told him scathingly. "Now, get out of my mind. You don't like all the other voices being in your head, I don't like you being in my head."

He smirked. "I don't think so, princess. Your mind is an intriguing place. There's something here I rather like… I think I might settle in and stay."

She bristled, but the woman intruded. "Then you choose not to ask your questions now?"

Schuldich eyed her suspiciously. "I suppose. I already know all the answers I need, ja?" He folded his arms across his chest and stood hipshot, beautiful fallen angel, beautiful sin.

"I have my query, My Lady," Sabbath said quietly, and the woman turned her gaze to the slender Witch.

"Yes. Come, gaze into my cauldron, daughter of my sister aspect. See that which you seek. For I give you Power and I give you inspiration…"

Sabbath knelt before the kettle and the woman's hands settled on her shoulders as she gazed into it.

Schuldich was unprepared when the wind picked up, so strongly he could barely feel it against his skin even though his hair and Sabbath's were whipping around as though there was a typhoon. The fog gathered into a whirling funnel and Schuldich let out a yell of surprise that was muffled by the rushing air, the howl of which was just becoming audible, a dull, all-encompassing roar. Suddenly he couldn't see the woman or his surroundings anymore, so he flailed for Sabbath, hands finding her shoulders as he gripped her. Her voice came to him as if from miles away.

"I've got it!"

And then he was being rocketed upward at breakneck speed, terror making his heart thrum fast and his blood drain and his breath catch, until he slammed into the ceiling on that dream world and jerked away with a wild cry.

He picked himself up off of a carpeted floor, body still tightly curled in an attempt to protect itself from a high-speed collision. Jerking himself upright, he panted, lapis eyes dark with rage.

"What the fuck was that?" he snapped even as Sabbath drew in a quick breath and her eyes fluttered open. "What did you DO?"

She turned her head and saw him, and a smirk flitted across her lips. "Poor telepath," she murmured as she stirred and sat up. "Didn't you like that? It serves you right for diving into my head. I hope Hecate haunts you every night for the rest of your life."

"Who is Hecate?" He picked himself up off the carpet and brushed off his pants, lip curling as he watched her sit up and pull her shirt straight.

"The Goddess of Witchcraft and the crossroads," Sabbath told him blandly. She got up and snatched a pad of paper and complimentary pen from the end table next to the couch, scribbling on it hastily.

"So there's a goddess living in your head," Schuldich said sarcastically. "Aren't you blessed."

She ignored him, lips moving silently as she scribbled.

Schuldich made an irritated sound and reached out, cat-quick, snatching the paper away from her and holding it out of her reach. "What are you doing?" he demanded with a sneer, looking over her rounded print. "Quartz, spider web, bell, sandalwood… witch's shopping list?"

She glowered at him. "Spell components. Give it back."

He smirked and waved the paper above his head. "Oh, I don't know, sweetheart. What's this for, anyway? Something to get your friend's soul back in his body, I'd wager." From the flash of her eyes, he knew he'd struck home. "Do you really think this can work? Magic isn't real, sweets. You might have repressed psychic power, but you're no Witch."

Sabbath flared, snarling at him. "And you're a blind idiot with a god-complex. Give me my list before I tear out your throat."

Schuldich's eyes narrowed and he relaxed somewhat, tone deadly. "Careful who you threaten. I have no problems with popping your head like an overfull balloon."

"And I would bring you down with me," she promised, teeth grinding together as she circled him slowly.

He sneered. "Unlikely. Come, then, pretender. Get your precious spell if you can reach it."

Her smile was quicksilver and her lunge was too slow. He slipped to the side and batted her away, but she took the blow on her shoulders and twisted, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her feet tangled with his and he went down with a yelp and a thud, clenching the paper list in his hand where she couldn't get it. Even as he hit the ground, he lashed out at her with his mind.

Sabbath's body jerked and she screamed in agony, writhing on top of him, half trying to escape and half trying to attack. He increased the pressure, filling her mind with the voice of every man, woman, child, and dog in New York City, making them a cacophony that overwhelmed her with madness and pain. She threw herself backward, raising layer after layer of shields between herself and the voices, but Schuldich tore through them like tissue paper and swept them aside.

Dimly, he was aware of someone shouting, someone who wasn't the witch. The next thing he knew, the back of his head met the wall with a painful crack and he lost his concentration, and the screaming stopped. He slid down, groaning, and opened his eyes just as Sabbath staggered to her knees and threw herself at him, nails and teeth bared, pupils contracted to deadly pinpoints, letting out that same enraged, coughing yell that he'd heard from her back in the ally.

She was caught as if she was a giant rag doll and held still as Nagi stalked over and glared at the both of them. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded of Schuldich. It was obvious, from his expression, that he thought the telepath was at fault, despite Sabbath's feral growls as she struggled to free herself from that telekinetic hold.

"She attacked me!" Schuldich protested, hauling his aching body off of the carpet.

"Yes, I noticed," Nagi said dryly, folding his arms across his chest. "What did you do to deserve it?"

"Oh, fuck you, chibi-Crawford," Schuldich growled, brushing off his pants and jacket. He noticed the balled-up paper in his hand and flicked it at the stationary Sabbath, bouncing it off of her hair. "Fuck the both of you," he muttered as he stalked toward the door, slamming it on his way out.

Nagi raised an eyebrow, then appraised Sabbath curiously before slowly letting her down. She crumpled on the carpet and then struggled to her feet, looking decidedly pale. Blood trickled from her nose and ears. "I would introduce myself," she said shakily, "But if you don't mind, my stomach hurts." She made her unsteady way toward the bathroom and Nagi nodded. He knew very well what the aftermath of one of Schuldich's psychic attacks felt like. He went and sat down in one of the chairs, closing the bathroom door behind Sabbath so he wouldn't have to listen to her throwing up.

She finished quickly, and when she stepped out of the bathroom, she was steady again and there was no blood on her face. She looked pissed, and Nagi couldn't blame her. He was fairly certain that the telepath had provoked her attack just to have an excuse to take her down a notch or two.

"Good evening," she said a bit stiffly, stooping to pick up the ball of paper. "We haven't met. I'm Sabbath."

"Crawford told me about you," Nagi said politely. "Nice to meet you."

She nodded. "Thank you. For interfering, I mean. That would only have ended in someone's death, I'm afraid, and I don't think it would have been Schuldich's."

Nagi smiled faintly. "You seemed pretty sure it would be Schuldich just a moment ago," he said conspiratorially.

Sabbath returned the expression. "Yes, well," she said, her tone dryly imperious. "When I'm pissed, I'm a bit of a hellcat. He's stronger than me because in a fight I only have my physical body to rely on, and DAMN but he's fast . . ." She shook her head ruefully. "It hurt. I didn't believe it could hurt that much."

He nodded sympathetically. "Never make assumptions where Schuldich is concerned. I learned that the hard way." He straightened his jacket and tilted his head, azure eyes blinking slowly at her. "Crawford told me you were here," he amended, "but he didn't tell me much about why. You have a sick friend we're protecting and there are some very nasty people after you who could also threaten Eszet. That's about the gist I got." He tilted his head, obviously inviting her to elaborate.

She smiled warmly at him and smoothed her list against her thigh as she sat down on the coffee table. Seeming amused by this, Nagi sat in the chair. "They're called The One," she began, and with the same intensity and cunning concentration as Crawford, tinged with quite a bit more innocence and curiosity, Nagi listened.

X-X-X


	5. Chapter 5

Sabbath had a natural instinct for commanding others, but she did prefer to be alone. Living in cramped quarters with Schwarz had come close to driving her insane in just a couple of days (of course, Schuldich's little stunt contributed greatly to that – Sabbath would never forget the feeling of having all of NYC in her head), and so she was taking some time off for herself to do her magickal shopping. She might encounter The One's agents, she knew, but she was so desperate to be by herself that it was a risk she was willing to take. Magick versus Psionics . . if this had been Dungeons and Dragons, the psions would have won easily because she had no defense whatsoever against their power. But this was not a game world, and she did have a defense, because magickal defenses COULD keep out psychic intrusion.

Bringing Ray's soul back to his body was not the only thing she planned to accomplish, and thus, that was not the only spell she was shopping for.

The Black Kettle was actually a coffee shop, at least as far as most people knew. They sold delicious herbal teas and natural remedies, a hip and somewhat hippy hang-out for college students. Near the back was a small door, the window painted over with white paint and a small sign taped to it that read "upstairs, Craft". Sabbath took this door and closed it behind her, ascending the rickety steps to the loft. The scent of pungent herbs assaulted her, but these were familiar friends and she breathed deeply, gaining energy with every step. Finally she vaulted up into the second story, surrounded on all sides by overflowing bookshelves, and began to browse.

The bookshelves were a veritable maze, but she found her way through them easily, pausing to wistfully pick up a book of charms before shaking her head and putting it back. She had business here to conduct and she needed to keep herself focused. She found a table divided into sections with multi-colored semi-precious stones piled high in each section. Her fingers sifted through them and they slid around her hands, cool and glass-like. Nearby were stacked similar stones, but these were carved into simple geometric shapes. She selected a circle of obsidian about the size of her palm and a small oval of quartz, and a round mirror a little larger than it. On a whim, she snatched up a piece of lapis about the size and shape of an eye and slipped that into her little sack as well. She selected several baggies of crumbled leaves, incense, and spent some time mulling over candles. Then, finally, she browsed the shelves until she found several books that looked like they might contain some genuine information about psionicism. She didn't bother looking at the total that showed on the receipt for her check card. She didn't want to know, and besides, this was more important than mere money. The two bags she carried from the store were heavy with purchases and she walked quickly, head up and alert as she made her way back toward the hotel, humming Union Underground to herself. She wanted to stop for coffee, but she knew she couldn't afford it, not with The One dodging her steps. She'd need her altar and her materials, but she'd take one of Schwarz with her to go get those. Probably Farfarello, since he was really the only one she'd trust to help her get the heavy white-pine chest back to their headquarters. Crawford would pump her for information the entire way and Nagi… well, she trusted Nagi just fine, but she got the feeling he'd rather be left alone. Besides, she liked Farf. And she had a certain odd fascination with watching him. He moved in such an alien way, it never ceased to amuse her, though her random giggling outbursts did seem to confuse the poor madman just a bit.

She'd made it most of the way back to the hotel before her sixth sense warned her that she was in danger. She stopped and put her back to the wall, closing her eyes briefly and stretching out her senses. Her nerves jangled more toward the opposite side of the street, so she focused on it, called on the spirits of the air to speed her, and took off running down the sidewalk. She was not a fast runner, but she seemed to fly through the crowd, twisting and whirling to get around people. Her footsteps didn't even to touch the ground long enough to make a sound, and as she dodged the crowds, she couldn't possibly misstep. Bless you, Hermes, She thought with amusement as she careened wildly through the throng of people. She could see the sign that marked the hotel already. But then shouts from the other side of the street began to filter into her awareness. She hooked a hand around a street lamp and swung around to look, jaw dropping as she continued her swing and pulled a perfect pivot around the pole to continue on her way. On the other side of the street was a suited man with blank eyes. Chasing her. PACING her.

Kineticist, she realized as she bolted for the steps of the hotel. Once she got inside, she'd be safe. The One didn't like attention from non-psis. They wouldn't dare follow her farther, especially not with Eszet lurking in the hotel. Unless, of course, they caught up to her here. On a crowded street, but with alleys nearby into which to drag her and native New Yorkers, who weren't at all liable to call the police.

Of course, she could get help. Schuldich wouldn't be able to miss a telepathic call. But she wasn't about to submit herself to the whims of that red-headed sadist. Her sleeve was tugged and she realized with shock that this kineticist's increased momentum had carried him right up to her. She dug her boots in and the thick soles caught on the concrete even as she twisted aside and ducked, an acrobatic maneuver that sent the Collective's lunge flying over her head. He missed her by nothing and his clothes brushed hers as he hurtled past. Sabbath almost turned to run the other way, but she couldn't outrun this creature and most definitely couldn't fight it. A kineticist could steal the power from her attacks and add it to his own, could speed his fists so that they did more harm, could even excite the motion of the atoms that made up her body enough that she would combust, if he was skilled enough. Of course, he hadn't already done that, so she was hoping he couldn't. None the less, the abilities he WOULD have would easily kill her.

Except that she had one or two aces up her sleeve. First, a bit of simple glamour to get most of these people to back off. She held her hands out to her sides slightly, palms tilted down, fingers clawed. Her head lolled back and her shoulders rolled, and even as they did so, she FELT immense, black-feathered wings unfold from her back and her hair tear free of its tie as she was sheathed in a flowing black and purple robe, and her eyes glowed with violet light. It was just an illusion, of course, and only those with The Sight would be able to see it fully. But the sense of power and intimidation would affect everyone in the area, and already people were murmuring and backing away from her. It didn't effect the kineticist at all, and he stalked her methodically. She could feel the buzz of his aura as it crackled with restrained energy. Were they going to have a knock-down, drag-out fight in the middle of the city? Well, if he was game, so was she. She mentally began to pray, and she knew EXACTLY who to pray to in this situation.

Kali Ma, Dark Mother from whom we all came and to whom we will all return . .

The kineticist came on and Sabbath only had a split second to react. He was supernaturally fast, but Sabbath had survived high school physics and years and years of comic book fandom. Speed was all well and good, but it was too easy to use momentum against someone. She didn't bother trying to dodge much, just twisted to the side, sweeping her 'wings' down for momentum and bringing her clasped fists down on the man's neck as he lurched past her. He made a grunting sound and stumbled and she grabbed his coat tails, pulling herself in a tight circle and down on top of him as she hooked an ankle around his foot. Not graceful, not at all, but her fighting style wasn't that. She was a roller and tussler and she needed her prey on the ground. So she had him, and she squeezed his body between her thighs as hard as she could to hang on and tangled her fingers in his hair, lifting his head and driving it down as hard as she could into the concrete. She got in two good blows that stained the sidewalk with blood before he caught on and started using his power to absorb the momentum of the blows. He was storing it to release at her in a blast that would sear her skin like fire and set her cells aflame. She couldn't afford to wait for it, so she pulled his head back. He didn't resist that, since it was the downward motion he'd need to absorb, and the harder she worked, the more she fed his own power.

Heh. So much for that idea. Had he been a telepath, he would have known better. She twisted and sank her teeth into his neck, nuzzling as she bit and searching for a pulse. He started to thrash and she growled as she found something that throbbed under her tongue. For an instant, she paused. The Collective were human beings, like any other. They breathed. They had pulses. They had just been taken over by this dark force, but that didn't make them any less people. Somewhere they had souls. Could she really tear out this man's throat as if he was a rabbit and she a cat?

And then something wicked and primal welled in her and she dug her teeth in deep. Her mouth filled with blood and the creature let out a groan. If it had been capable of independent thought, it probably WOULD have screamed, but the groan of many voices was the typical dying keen of The Collective. She clenched her jaw, felt something made of cartilage give under her teeth, and tore up and outward. Blood spurted wildly and she shoved herself back, then cursed. Some psychics could heal, and if he had that Gift, or if a Healer was around . . . .

One wasn't and he didn't. He was still as his life bled onto the pavement below. Sabbath cast a panicked look around and realized that nobody was on the street anywhere nearby, and those people several streets down who were walking didn't look her way. How had the entire area emptied so fast? She got her answer when Schuldich's nasal voice joined her frantic heartbeat in an assault on her ears.

"Well, that was only mildly conspicuous. You'd better thank whatever you believe in that Crawford saw this coming and ordered me to save your hide. I'd have left you to be arrested." The German lounged against the side of the building near the door and Farfarello was at his side, moving toward her. She bared bloodstained teeth at Schuldich, which actually seemed to startle him just a bit, and growled low in her throat as she shoved herself to her feet and snatched up her bags. She shifted both of them into one hand and shouldered her way past Farfarello, toward the lobby.

"I wouldn't," Schuldich said slyly. "You're covered in blood, or didn't you notice? And I don't particularly feel like clouding their minds. So many people, one might just . . slip through, ja?"

She stopped and hiked an eyebrow at him. "Well, then, maybe we should just give you to The Collective if you're that useless," she said flatly. "It's one thing to overpower one little girl who has no mental shields and can't erect them, but four or five bored hotel workers is obviously too much. I'm sure Crawford will see it that way too."

Schuldich's lapis-blue eyes narrowed at the blatant threat. "Hiding behind the Oracle's skirts? THAT'S brave of you," he sneered. "And don't think Crawford's very happy with you, liebling. You snuck off without telling anyone . . .shame, shame," he chastised with a wicked grin. "What was so important, shopping?"

"Actually," Sabbath told him archly, "I have a plan. To destroy the Collective entirely."

"And it will have to wait," Schuldich told her gleefully. "We're moving to a better location. We're supposed to stop by wherever you live in the meantime in case there's anything you need."

It was Sabbath's turn to be surprised, but she took it with grace. "There most definitely is, but first we have to make it upstairs." She whirled and headed toward the staff entrance to the hotel, where there was a stairway up that wouldn't take them past any security. Schuldich sighed at the prospect of twenty-something flights of stairs. "Farf, go with her," he said boredly. "I'm taking the elevator."

Farfarello smirked and stalked after Sabbath, movements as graceful as a tiger's.

It took him the entire alley and a flight of stairs to catch up to her. She was flying, feet light as feathers on the ground, and even to his carefully trained ears, her footsteps made no sound at all. She was taking the stairs at a run, two at a time, but he was taller and had a longer stride and eventually he was matching her. She paused on the fifteenth floor to rest and smirked at him as she tried to wipe the blood from her chin and only smeared it on her forearm. She looked more like a vampire than a witch then. "Did I make you proud of me, Farf?" she inquired with a devilish wink, and he couldn't help a slit-eyed smile. "Ug." She examined the streaks of blood on her arm and let out a sigh of irritation. "It itches."

He was familiar with the sensation and he caught the wrist of her stained arm, sliding the packages off of it. She raised an eyebrow, obviously wondering as to his motives. She'd been telling the truth about having no shielding on her mind whatsoever. He had no telepathic abilities whatsoever and he could almost read her mind himself. Of course, she also didn't have much of a poker face.

And the blood showed so beautifully stark against her flawless skin. He lifted her wrist and pushed her back, pinning her between him and the wall. For half an instant, fear flashed in her face, but Sabbath took her fear and used it for strength and she raised a knee threateningly. "What are you up to now?"

Of course he didn't answer, but his actions were answer enough. Pressing her body against the cheap plaster, he leaned in and ran his tongue up the underside of her arm.

He wasn't expecting her reaction. Her heart thumped hard and she convulsed, and suddenly he and the wall were the only things holding her up. A gasp tore from her throat. "Farf, I understand that you like blood, but I have a vampire fetish. Don't DO that," she pleaded.

"Do . . . ?" He regarded her quietly for a moment, eye wide and golden. "Do this?" This time he led with his teeth, but he didn't bite, just play-ravaged her wrist, nibbling the blood off of it. Hot still, coppery, and sweet, with the slightest pungent tint he smelled on her. Herbs, powerful ones. He liked the taste, he decided, and bit down lightly on the inside of her wrist.

Sabbath let out a wild cry and sagged against him, her free hand tangling in his short-cropped hair. Her body shook and he was both shocked and amused. This was all it took to undo her, the black angel who'd spread her wings and sent throngs of people running with only a mental nudge from Schuldich to speed them on their way, the woman-cat who tore out a man's throat with her teeth? It seemed too childishly simple, and yet to him, it was significant. How many women, nuns, virgins, and faithful mothers, had he drained in just such a way? By digging in his teeth to their throats or their soft wrists and drinking the life out of them? Such a connection was beyond intimate. It went past the physical and emotional and into the spiritual, taking these lives, drinking their terror and their cries like honey mead. They always felt defiled by his touch, but not so the witch. She fought against his grip and told him sharply to stop it but he held on and methodically cleaned the last of the metallic fluid from her arm with his tongue and teeth. By the time he finished, they'd slumped to the floor and she was clutching his hair and shaking, curled into a ball. He regarded her glazed-over eyes and pale cheeks and she twitched, hard.

He smiled.

Setting the bags he'd taken to the side, he wrapped a hand in her hair and pulled her head back. He expected her to resist, but she did not, and he first attended to the smear of blood on her chin and lips. She sucked in a breath as he nipped at her chin and then pressed his own bloodied lips to hers.

Rape was a crime abhorrent to God, and thus he had engaged in it on several occasions. He had noticed that men and women tasted subtly different, though both could be pleasant in their own ways. Something of their own personalities always bled through. Schu, for example, tasted slightly mad with a tinge of electricity. Farfarello always felt just a little drugged after a few passionate hours with the telepath. Of course, Schuldich had so many drugs in his system, it was hard to tell where his power-induced mania stopped and the leftover ecstasy began. Sabbath was another story entirely. She fairly thrummed with power, not psychic power, but an aura of authority and mysticism. Schuldich tasted like lightening, neither controlled nor controllable, but Sabbath tasted like bread baking and freshly ground herbs and cool starlit nights and pine forests. She returned the pressure and he smelled fire and burning leaves against her skin and fresh-fallen snow at the crease where her lips met. And, of course, blood. She was tasting that on him too, and showing no disgust. Their lips broke and he sucked at small patches of skin, from her mouth down to her jaw line. He had more in store, though, and he ducked his head and sucked hard at a dribble of gore that had slid down that gracefully curved throat.

She cried out and her entire body ached up against his as her head thunked against the wall behind her. Her fingers were knotted too tightly in his hair, but it went without saying that he barely noticed. Her skin was so soft, and just a bit sticky with blood, and he finally pinned down what she tasted and smelled like: spiced honey. It was warmth and kick and sweetness all in one. He worked her throat with lips and teeth and relished her helpless convulsions. Schu had a couple sweet spots, but nothing that could to THIS to him. It was a rather . . enchanting . . experience. No pun intended of course.

He was thoroughly enjoying himself and utterly surprised when she found the strength to twist out of his grip and slide under his arm, tumbling onto her ass and hands as she twitched repeatedly and watched him, warily. "Enough," she told him, breathing hard, and he simply inclined his head and folded his legs under him, watching her amusedly.

She shook her head. "You ass," she chuckled, rubbing her neck vigorously to rid herself of the feel of his mouth. "There's a wonderful thing to have to explain. 'Hey, witch, how'd you get a hickey between the street and the room?' And then me: 'Um… well… Farf bites.' THAT'LL go over well . . ."

He flashed his teeth at her. "But I do bite," he said smoothly. "Often. They all know that, it comes from drawing straws to see who fastens my straightjacket on at night."

She burst into laughter. "They put you in a straightjacket at night? WHY? Well . . . okay, I know why. But I mean, they're your group. Would you really kill them in the night?"

"I have better things to do at night," Farfarello told her solemnly. "Thinking and sleeping, to name two."

She smiled. "Sounds like my nights. But seriously. Do you want them dead?"

"Crawford would look rather appealing if he was impaled from mouth to rectum on a spike, but I don't have plans to accomplish that anytime soon," he said flatly.

She snickered wildly. "I saw something like that once, in a movie," she told him. "Impaled on a spike and hung horizontally from the ceiling. I think I scared my family when I couldn't stop laughing."

He raised an eyebrow. "Where is your family?."

She smirked. "Cleveland, Ohio. I came up here this year, for college. I'm a really poor student, though, and I dropped out after about a month. Doesn't matter, though. I really didn't belong in Cleveland."

"Where do you belong?" he asked, as though he asked this of people every day and expected a quick and confident answer.

"No idea," she told him wryly. "I find kindred spirits, you know… around, but it's never really right. Not the right coven or the right group of psions. Which is weird. You'd think I'd belong with SOME group." She seemed about to say more, but shut her mouth quickly. She'd almost startled rambling, something she did at the slightest provocation, and even she didn't have the patience for that at the moment. Doubtful Farf did.

But to her obvious surprise, he was watching her with curiosity that was both innocent and predatory at once. "Go on," he told her, his voice cool.

"I'm too normal for the Goths and too gothic for the Normals. I'm too stupid for the nerds and not dedicated enough for the geeks. I don't belong anywhere. I don't . . FIT. No matter where I join, I have to be a leader or we can't find a place for me, but I don't want to lead. I'm strong of will and personality, but I don't like having people look up to me. It's unbelievably frustrating, like I don't have a true place in the world. Even my family couldn't make a place for me. The only place I belong is at Kali's right hand, and that certainly doesn't give me a place in ordered society. Civilization abhors destruction and that's what I do best." She blinked, then chuckled. "I guess we're not different much."

He smiled. "No, we are not." He tilted his head up, suddenly, like a cat who'd heard the scratching of a mouse, and unfolded from his sitting position gracefully. "We should go. They'll be angry." He offered her a hand.

Pure foolishness to get any closer to this madman, Sabbath thought briefly, but then again, in the time since she'd met him, she'd behaved more insanely than he did by far. She took his wrist and he pulled her easily to her feet.

X-X-X

Calan strode into Cross's apartment without so much as a greeting and made himself at home on the couch, leaning over the coffee table and spreading his tarot deck with a flick of his wrist. He was tall, with skin the pallid color of too little sun. His hair was long, brushing his thighs, and silvery blonde, pulled back with a band. He wore an everyday sort of suit, the top buttons of his shirt undone and his tie loose. Reading glasses crowned his nose and he smirked at Cross from his position over the cards.

"Care for a reading?" he inquired mischievously, and Cross rolled his eyes.

"I've got something better for you to read," he said dryly, waving the file folder that contained Kritiker's briefing at Calan.

The blonde hiked an eyebrow. "Oh, really. What could be more riveting than the future of someone as unpredictable as you?"

Cross laughed. "I'm perfectly predictable and I'm sure my future isn't too much to look at. Death, sex, the summer's hot movie, death, sex, some partying, death and sex."

Calan flipped over a card and chuckled. "Oh. Heh. Pretty much. You should go light on the death though, it's not good for life."

"My life is about death," Cross said negligently, walking over and sitting on the couch across from Calan with his arms spread lazily across the back. "So how much did Kritiker tell you?"

"Hmph. No more than usual… just a little more than nothing and not quite nada."

Cross laughed. "Sorry about that. Here's what they gave me… you'll be pleased. It's at least two steps above nada." He nodded solemnly and set the file down between them, flipping open the cover and turning it so they could both read it. "Schwarz. It's German for 'black', though I'm sure you knew that. By all reports, they're one of Eszet's best teams running, undefeated, loyal, and deadly as all hell." He flipped one page and tapped a picture of a severe-looking man with glasses, black hair, and a slightly wicked glint to his narrowed blue eyes. "Brad Crawford, codename: Oracle. Precognitive." He flipped that page and pointed to a picture of a blue-eyed devil with spiky orange hair who had committed the fashion travesty of wearing dark green with that hair color. "Schuldich. Codename: Mastermind. Telepath." The next picture, a lanky man with short white hair, one golden eye, a black eye-patch, and a delicately beautiful face trisected by three deep scars, soon stared up at Calan. "Farfarello. Codename: Berserker. Immunity to pain. And Naoe Nagi, codename: Prodigy, hacker and telekinetic." This picture indicated a slender youth with dark brown hair and solemn blue eyes.

Calan picked up Crawford's picture and smiled. "Wow, I think I like him," he murmured, then gave Cross a teasing look. "In a purely professional manner."

Cross laughed and tapped Schuldich's picture again. "Nah. Fellow red-heads are more my style. They tend to have a sense of humor, even if this one dresses like an idiot."

Calan pointed at Farf. "Thought you liked the strong silent type."

Cross laughed and shook his head. "No, I never have," he corrected, casting a glance toward the bedroom door, behind which Yuka was taking a shower. "I like people who are vivacious. You know, the ones who laugh and blush and fly into rages." He shrugged. "Anyway, you didn't come here to drool over pictures with me. These four have been an established team for two years now. They've been giving another Kritiker team by the name of Weiß some trouble in Tokyo, and their 'boss' is Reiji Takatori, head of Takatori Enterprises and the Jingen party, which stands a good chance of winning this year's elections." He paused and gave Calan a weighty look. "Which would make Takatori, and by him, Schwarz, and by THEM, Eszet… the leaders of Japan."

Calan gave him a dry look. "So they want us to clean up Weiß's mess."

Cross sighed and raked his hands through his hair. "You know how Kritiker feels about psychic powers," he said quietly. "The organization as a whole refuses to officially believe they even exist. Eszet is a cult to them, a bunch of drug-enhanced, power-hungry madmen and nothing more. But you and I know differently. Unless I miss my guess, Weiß would share Kritiker's reluctance to believe in the supernatural, so they'd never really allow themselves to prepare for an enemy of this caliber. We're different." He smiled slightly at Calan, a knowing smile of wry camaraderie. "We've seen things like this before."

Calan's fingers nimbly plucked a card from the top of his deck and held it upright, facing Cross. Cross took a look and laughed; the Devil card. "Damned right, we have," the blonde affirmed.

Cross nodded. "So. Kritiker doesn't have any other information on Schwarz. There's some stuff in here about Takatori, but he isn't our target. He's not the real threat. Even if we can only kill one or two of them, it would give Weiß a chance to finish the rest of them off."

"You know, if they're as good as they say, it'd be a real shame to kill them, wouldn't it?"

"It's what we're getting paid for," Cross said flippantly. "Unless you have a better plan?"

He shrugged. "If they're really that good, I might get a rush out of this mission. You know, I miss that."

Cross grinned wickedly. "We could always find you a different kind of rush," he said silkily, but he was only teasing. Calan was as straight as an arrow, and though neither of them minded the other's orientation, they teased each other about it a great deal.

"Er, I think I'll just stick to poking people with my sword," Calan said, and when Cross's wicked grin deepened, he amended, "not THAT one."

Cross laughed. "You're no fun. You should give it a try, Cal. Might get rid of some of that boredom. Anyway, we're supposed to gather information too, and assassinations aren't expected. So do what you want, you know… as long as we talk to each other. Me, I think I know where to start." He smirked at the folder darkly.

Calan gathered his deck together, stood, and headed for the door. "Okay," he said cheerfully, then turned and winked at Cross. "You evil, evil man."

"That's me," Cross agreed gamely, folding his hands behind his head and propping his feet on the coffee table. "The incarnation of wickedness. Or was it lust?" He winked back, then tilted his head. "Sure you won't stay? I'll even be all domestic and cook you dinner. Or grab you something to drink."

Calan considered the invitation, then shook his head. "No thanks. I'd rather lounge and relax a little with a good book. Maybe one about psychic powers. I'll call you tomorrow morning to see what your plan is."

Cross nodded. "Goodnight then."

Calan stepped out and closed the door quietly behind him.

Cross shook his head slowly and started to stand up, when the door to the bedroom cracked open and Yuka peeked out. "I didn't want to disturb you," he said, flushing slightly as he pulled the door the rest of the way open and stepped quickly out.

Cross smiled warmly at him. "Not a chance. It was just Calan… you've met him before, remember?"

"That guy you have business with sometimes," Yuka said, nodding faintly. "I remember."

Cross stood and stretched. "You ready for dinner? I'm hungry, personally. Wish Calan'd stayed… I was going to make pork chops." He shook his head in chagrin and then grinned at Yuka. "Oh well. More for us, eh kanojo?"

Yuka beamed. "Hai, Korossu-kun!"

X-X-X


	6. Chapter 6

Moving was always an arduous task. Sabbath had done it over a dozen times in her lifetime, since her parents seemed unable to keep jobs in the same town. Eventually they'd come full circle, which left Sabbath questioning the wisdom of having moved anywhere at all, except that for someone as 'freakish' as she was, it had given her multiple chances to start over as she made a mess of each new school situation. This was a bit different, though, she mused as she and Farfarello lugged the large, flat-topped chest that served as her altar out to the van Crawford had acquisitioned especially for this occasion. She'd never been going anywhere with anyone aside from her parents, for one thing. To have Schwarz in her apartment, which had hosted almost no one but herself since she'd gotten it, was decidedly… odd. Schuldich had made an annoyance of himself poking into everything he could get his nose into, but fortunately for Sabbath, there was nothing here that was embarrassing. A massive library of magickal books, souvenirs from Africa, simple furniture, a comic book collection, dozens of gaming supplies, and her laptop, which was likely the most important thing in her entire apartment. She did take it with her, along with as many books as she could get Nagi to carry. They moved quickly and silently, with an unspoken sense of urgency. Crawford was standing watch outside, presumably to make sure that no agents of The One took them by surprise as they were lugging something heavy.

He looked a bit troubled, Sabbath noted as she slipped on the fuzzy carpet on the floor of the van, crab-walking backward and bringing the chest with her. She twisted out from under it and grunted as she forcibly shoved it into a corner, then clambered out and brushed off her sore hands.

"Have you seen something?" Farfarello was asking, standing poised as that single amber eye bore into the back of Crawford's head. If the Oracle was at all discomfited by the attention, he didn't show it.

"Nothing. But it pays to be alert." Pushing his glasses up his nose, he turned and nodded sharply. "Time to finish up. Get the rest of what you need into the van and let's get moving."

"As you wish," Sabbath said cheerfully, muttering, "oh, captain, my captain," as she scampered back toward the building.

Crawford smirked, then turned to Farfarello. "Stay here. I need to speak with Schuldich."

Farfarello nodded and took up station, and Crawford slipped inside.

Schuldich was watching, rather than helping, Sabbath carry a towering stack of books. Had Sabbath not been a witch, Crawford would have questioned her need of so many of them, but she'd made it very clear that there was more knowledge contained in these books than in her head and if he wanted her to do something about The One, some serious research was in order. As the slender witch staggered down the stairs, Crawford took Schuldich's arm and drew him aside.

"I know that look," Schu purred lounging against the wall and eyeing Crawford slyly. "Somebody's Seen something…."

Crawford gave Schuldich a look of mild annoyance. "Nothing serious. But listen to me. I know you're planning on going out tonight…"

"…Amazing how I didn't even know that yet," Schuldich interjected.

"…And you're going to meet someone. Be… just be careful. I See red hair and crossed swords."

Schu laughed. "But I don't use a sword," he told Crawford, shooting him a wink and slipping past him toward the stairs. "Thanks for the heads-up, Brad, but I can take care of myself. If I meet an enemy, I'll know." He sauntered down the stairs just as Sabbath was coming back up, and when he left no room for her to pass him, she elbowed him aside and kept going. Schu slammed into the wall and cursed, and Crawford smirked at him. 

"Didn't see that one coming," he said simply, as Sabbath brushed past him.

"SHE doesn't think about it before she does things!" Schuldich complained, stalking out to the van.

Crawford merely chuckled and fell in behind him.

X-X-X

Images was crowded that night, a hundred voices crowding in Schuldich's thoughts and giving him a headache. Still, it was better than hanging around their new and larger apartment with stick-up-the-ass Crawford, silent Nagi, a boy in a coma, and the damned witch who seemed bound and determined to drive him as insane as possible. Of course, he didn't mind Farfarello, but the Irishman had the ability to be simultaneously intriguing and unobtrusive. Schuldich would have invited him to come along, but tonight, he just wanted to be alone. Of course, as a telepath, he was never really alone even in his own head. Thus, to him, 'alone' meant drowning in a dull roar of unfamiliar minds, without the familiar and sometimes grating presence of the people he knew.

He drank slowly and stared moodily at the bar top. Behind him, dozens of bodies pressed and ground against each other to the beat of throbbing music. Had he been in a better mood, he might have danced, but at the moment, he just wanted to sit and pity himself.

He was distracted somewhat as he felt a new presence enter his personal space. An automatic search of the person's mind made Schuldich's head shoot up in surprise. A redhead… warm black eyes, gorgeous face with an intelligent and sly tilt, muscled body clad in worn and casual clothes. His hair wasn't the brilliant orange of Schuldich's, but the darker color of the sun at sunset.

I see red hair and crossed swords…

And his mind… that was the most arresting thing. He had the usual current of surface thoughts that everyone ran, like a constant commentary in their own heads, but his was unusually slow and languid. And beneath it, there was just… nothing. Quiet. Schuldich had met people who's heads were so empty they never had a truly deep thought for him to pry into, but this man wasn't that. It wasn't lack of intelligence that kept his mind mercifully and blessedly quiet; it was peace. To brush against his mind was like being touched by cool water, instantly calming and healing. There was only one other person Schuldich knew who had a mind as quiet as this, and it was Crawford, who through years of dealing with telepaths and psychics of all varieties had disciplined his thoughts until they were silent.

The man caught him staring and merely offered him a rakish smile. "See something you like?" he teased lightly, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Schuldich's eyes narrowed as Brad's warning came back to him, and he quickly indulged himself in a deeper search of this man's mind. To his surprise, he turned up nothing. No evil intent, no information about him at all. He was thinking that Schuldich was unusually beautiful (that was useful information, but in a different way) and that he looked troubled. Schu laughed when he uncovered concern in the man's thoughts.

"What do you care if I look like I'm miserable?" he chuckled, causing the redhead to hike an eyebrow. "You don't know me."

"Well, that's easily fixed. My name is Cross Aladriss. And you are?" He offered a hand, and Schu took it, feeling a strong grip roughened with calluses.

"Schuldich," he said loftily, slipping Cross a wink.

Cross's eyes narrowed. "Guilty?"

Schu blinked, then had to refrain from smacking himself in the forehead. This was America, where they taught about a dozen different foreign languages to children before they even left grade school. There was no reason for this man not to know German, and therefore, no reason for him to not be able to effortlessly translate Schu's name.

So, rather than becoming defensive, he leaned back in his seat, crossed one long leg over the other, and raised his glass to Cross. "That I am," he purred, "But everyone's guilty of something."

"Mm-hm." Cross returned the smirk and slid onto the stool next to Schuldich, ordering a Guinness and resting his elbows on the bar. "Some of us more so than others. So, are you miserable or were you just reading my face?"

Schu laughed. "Your face isn't hard to read, and I suppose mine isn't either at the moment." He couldn't resist giving Cross a once-over and then leaning in flirtatiously, his trademark devilish grin quickly returning to his face.

"Well, that's something of a problem with me," Cross said cheerfully, accepting his beer from the tender. "I'm compulsively honest."

Schu snorted. "Please. Nobody is entirely honest. They say things they don't mean and offer comfort they don't feel. Empty kindness and empty condolences… if they were really honest, they'd admit that none of them gives a shit."

Cross considered that and shrugged. "And if they do? How would you know the difference?"

"None do," Schu said confidently, knocking back his shot and spinning the glass back onto the varnished bar top. "Not about me and not about you." He glanced up, eyes narrowing slyly as he appraised Cross, who was listening attentively. "They all want something out of you. Just like I want something out of you…" his fingers flicked out and meandered down that handsome face, and Cross's mouth twitched into a smirk. "And you probably want something from me."

"Well, you're right enough about that," Cross admitted, black eyes locked onto Schuldich's. "But I guess I'm one of those rare, one-of-a-kind beings who does give a shit. You've got no reason to confide in me, but if you want to get whatever it is off your chest, I'll listen. And I won't give you anything false."

Schu waved a hand dismissively. "I'll be fine in a little while. I should get out there and dance…" Like quicksilver, his expression changed and he stood, smirking at Cross. "Want to come?"

If Cross was surprised by his mercurial behavior, he didn't show it. He merely smiled and stood also, following Schu out onto the dance floor. Cross was just a bit shorter than Schu was, but he moved gracefully and easily. He probably had martial arts training, Schu realized suddenly. That was why his mind was so quiet and he was so… so… composed. He slid an arm around Schu's waist, somewhat surprising the German, and then they spun together and all those thoughts fled Schu's mind. The lights strobed and the music forced his heart to thump in time with it. Cross had a gorgeous body, he realized dimly as he ground against him, and as the press of minds and bodies all around him threatened to swallow him, Schu let his presence slip into the other redhead's thoughts where everything was calm. It was blissful and he pulled Cross close, lips skating over his throat. Cross slipped a hand up into his hair and Schuldich shuddered, one hand running down the other man's back to his hip and pulling him closer to grind. They danced through two songs, then three, as Schu basked in mental safety and quickly grew to know his partner's body, the way he moved and the feel of toned muscle under deliciously fevered skin.

Schu was in a stupor, so it was Cross who eventually broke away and dragged him back to the bar to get something to drink. He watched Cross as he finished off his alcohol, taking stock of him one more time for good measure, then set the drink down and drew his fingers down the other man's face. "I think you've won me over, Kreuz," he murmured, and Cross chuckled at the German version of his name. "I'm feeling MUCH better…." He leaned in and purred in Cross's ear, and felt the other redhead tense. Schu smirked nibbled at his earlobe. "You up for a change of pace? Come with me…"

Very few people could resist Schuldich when he put his mind to getting them into bed. None the less, he was rather flattered when Cross didn't even try.

X-X-X

"Where IS he?" Crawford demanded of the air, but the air didn't answer, and neither did Sabbath or her comatose friend who was now on a bed rather than a couch.

"If you're that worried, I can try to find him for you," Sabbath offered, and Crawford shook his head, waving a hand dismissively.

"It's all right. He'll be back before things get serious, I've seen that much, but he always HAS to disappear just when it's most inconvenient…"

Sabbath smiled. "Well, maybe he wants to have a life. I mean, I'm sure Schwarz is a tight-knit group, Crawford, but it's hard to be around people constantly. Hell, I feel infringed upon staying with all of you. There's always someone around, someone who's in my space, and I'm never alone. It's got to be ten times worse for Schu, being a mind-reader."

Crawford eyed her. "Yes, I understand that. But he has a duty to be around when we need him, and Eszet doesn't make concessions for agents who want to have a 'life'."

"Eszet doesn't make concessions period," Sabbath told him, her voice tinged with scorn. "Seriously. Why do you bother with them? You could make plenty of money on your own, hiring your skills out to the highest bidder without Eszet serving as go-between and hanging over your head like the Sword of Damocles. And if it's power you're after, going your own way would gain you power AND freedom. I don't have to tell you how much of the world is at your fingertips, as a precog…."

Crawford waved her into silence and actually met the steady and dark gaze trained on him. "Eszet is strength," he told her sternly. "Eszet is power, and knowledge, and security. Eszet is the future of the Gifted. If I were you, I would try to view them more favorably."

"That's a rather ominous statement," Sabbath shot back gamely, stretching like a cat in the chair she was draped sideways over, as was her habit. "Which reminds me. You were supposed to ask them if you were allowed to give us a hand. I assume you've heard back by now."

Smart girl. Crawford couldn't resist a smile, but it was bitter. "Yes, as a matter of fact, and I was hoping for a moment of privacy to discuss that with you."

"Well, discuss away," Sabbath said with dry magnanimity. "There's no one here except for me, you, and the corpse." She chucked a thumb in the direction of her sleeping friend.

Crawford chuckled. "Eszet agrees that this Collective could become a threat to us. They are willing to allow us to aid the Inconnu, with promise that there will be no betrayal, and no more infringement upon whoever stands against this One."

"That's all of New York City," Sabbath reminded him, then settled back, eyes shrewdly narrowed. "And what is it they want in return for this generosity?"

Crawford smirked coldly, and told her in one word.

Sabbath paled, and for a moment, he almost felt guilty. But this was his job, and she had the choice to accept the deal. 

Or die and let her friends die with her. Not much of a choice.

And really, it was all moot. He already knew what her choice would be. In fact, he had counted on it.

X-X-X

When Schuldich awoke, he was alone, and the strangeness of that disoriented him severely in the moment before he was able to get his bearings. Normally when he threw himself like this, into the arms of the night and faceless strangers, he slept fitfully (if at all) and woke long before his exhausted partner, slipping away and muddling their memories so that they wouldn't remember his face and seek him out. But after several hours of play with Cross, who was both inventive and inexhaustible, they had both collapsed and Schu had slept like a stone, untroubled by dreams. And now it was late morning and the sunlight was streaming in through the drapes, which Cross had so thoughtfully opened before he left.

Memory came flooding back and warmth flushed under his skin as Schu dropped back into the mattress with a low purr. God, but that had been a wonderful night. Faceless strangers were rarely so good.

Funny, he thought idly as he pulled himself together and left the hotel, sauntering down the street rather than taking a cab and rather enjoying the early sunlight. Within the span of two days he'd randomly discovered two minds that were complete and utter opposites and neither of them were psions. Cross, whose entire being seemed to resonate easy-going peace, and Sabbath, who had no mental shields whatsoever and was so vibrant and full of energy that being around her made Schu's head throb painfully. Of course, it was insignificant irony, but it was enough to make him chuckle. He slipped between the throngs of people and paused on a street corner to raise his head and scent the air. It was early August and the heat would soon be sweltering and sticky, joining with the smog to cling to his skin. But just now, it was nice.

He returned to their new apartment quietly, anticipating that Crawford would be awake and exceptionally pissed. But Crawford was not sitting up and waiting for him, and the living room was strangely empty. In fact, the entire place was oddly quiet. He cast his thoughts out and quickly located Sabbath, the only person in the apartment at the moment, sequestered away in her room. It was her mental signature, but he was rather surprised. Her thoughts were much quieter than usual, a low and humming blank that was occasionally interrupted by a random wisp of activity. He got the sense that she was… seeking something. Casting her mind out, hunting. He slipped closer to the door of her room and cracked it open quietly.

The sense of Power smacked him solidly in the face and he almost recoiled before he caught himself and steadied himself against it. The entire room thrummed with it, the air vibrating and almost seeming to sing. Sabbath had been given the second-largest room, with a large set of floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the sunlight and moonlight and faced toward the north. Now she was kneeling, facing east, and her friend's body lay on the floor in front of her. She had used chalk to inscribe a circle on the floor, ornate and inscribed with sigils Schu didn't have a hope in hell of identifying. Candles burned at each cardinal direction and pieces of quartz crystal were spread about the circle. He was fairly certain that the vibrations of those stones were what was producing the mental humming noise. Sabbath was sitting on her knees with several items in front of her, hands spread before her, chin resting on her collarbone. Between her hands, stretched along her fingertips, silver string made a simple spider web. As Schu carefully examined the Power structure she had set up, he realized that it resembled nothing so much as a great funnel, or a web of silken strands made to trap whatever fell into it from above. Her lips moved soundlessly as the funnel spun slowly, drawing Schuldich in, enticing him to come deeper and lose himself in its depths, to find his way home…

Schuldich jerked his mind away from the funnel and found himself panting. The Witch had power. There could no longer be any question about that. Maybe he'd been a bit off the mark, calling her a pretender, though he still wasn't convinced that the energy she'd managed to raise wasn't just another form of psionics. He backed away from the door and retreated to the kitchen to find himself some coffee. If she succeeded in drawing her friend's soul back to his body, which it was rather obvious she was trying to do, he'd know soon enough anyway.

The door latch clicked and Crawford stepped inside, followed closely by Farfarello, with Nagi tagging along close behind.

"Where have you BEEN?" the slight telekinetic demanded, looking affronted. "We got called off to accompany Takatori. He wasn't pleased that we'd misplaced you."

"Well, fuck you too, chibi-Crawford," Schuldich shot back with a smirk, lounging and raising both and eyebrow and his coffee mug with an air of smug satisfaction. "Oh, wait, you'd be in a better mood if you'd gotten fucked, especially as well as I did."

Nagi flushed and shook his head in chagrin, escaping for his room.

Crawford sighed and pressed a finger against the bridge of his glasses. "Where were you, Schu?" he inquired with admirable calm. "We told Takatori we'd left you behind to guard the telepath, but I'm not sure he was convinced. I've heard back from Eszet, by the way, and the arrangements have been made… we'll stand with the Inconnu, as allies."

"Are we going to stab them in the back?" Schu inquired lightly, spinning his mug between his hands.

"No," Crawford told him, and Schuldich looked irritably disappointed. "As I said, arrangements have been made. Eszet's aid was not bought cheaply."

"What are they paying us?"

"That's none of your business." Crawford helped himself to a mug and the remaining coffee, then sat at the table across from Schu. "The decision has been made; be content. Sabbath told me she was going to try to retrieve her friend's soul today. I assume she's still at it?"

"Busy as a little bee," Schuldich told him boredly. "I can see how she fell into Wicca. She's a Channeler."

"No, she is not," Farfarello interjected from the doorway, causing them both to shoot him irritated looks as he padded into the kitchen and flipped one of the chairs around to straddle it backwards. His jaw worked thoughtfully and the blunt end of a needle poked out between his lips. "It's a skill gained through practice and study, one anyone can master if they have the discipline and desire to learn."

"Been hitting her up for information?" Schuldich teased, his smile slightly cruel. "Witchcraft hurts God, doesn't it, Farfie?"

Farfarello shrugged and nodded. "Throughout all the holy scriptures, only one crime is never forgiven, and that is the crime of witchcraft. Witches, God says, are to be burned, beheaded, and stoned to death. Their holy places are to be desecrated and their sacred symbols destroyed, because they wield power only God is supposed to use." His full lips curved slightly upward. "God sought to keep mankind innocent in the garden, and never knowing the difference between good and evil, never knowing pain, mankind would never have advanced beyond its primitive state. But when Lucifer tempted woman with the seed of knowledge and she ate… she did, indeed, become like God. Because in each human being is a small piece of God, his likeness and his creative ability. Just as God can wield the power of wind and storm, of sun and brimstone, of life and death – just as God can see into the future and the past and know the minds of man and beast, so can human beings if they have the will."

"How enlightening," Schuldich murmured silkily, watching Farfarello as he chewed his needle. "I suppose she told you all this or have you already raided her library?"

Farf shrugged. "Some she told me. Some, I've found out myself recently, and some I already knew. Does it matter how I know it, as long as it's true?"

Schuldich decided to attend his coffee rather than argue with that logic, and Crawford saved them both from further religious ranting by clearing his throat and folding his hands on the table, a blatant signal that he was about to tell them something important.

"Our priorities have changed," he said succinctly, glancing around to make sure he had their attention. "As I have foreseen no threat to Takatori during our stay in America, only one of us, at most, need attend to him. Since he needs to know what is lurking in the minds of his employees, Schu, that's got to be you."

Schuldich scowled. His hatred for Takatori wasn't exactly a secret. Some day in the future, he fully intended to slam one of the old fart's damnable golf clubs so far up his ass that it would come out his throat. But for now, he was a member of Eszet and Eszet wanted Takatori alive and well catered-to.

"The rest of us will do what we can to whip the Inconnu into fighting shape and see if we can't locate The One's power base. Wherever they're housing their Core, we'll need to find it. I anticipate that Sabbath will prove useful in that area. If she does manage to revive her friend, I'll enlist his aid. If not, we'll have to dispose of him, but I don't think that will be a problem. Either way, these next few days will be spent taking measure of the enemy. Farfarello."

Farf's eye, which had been wandering off along with his thoughts, snapped back to Crawford.

"You're going to have to accompany Sabbath and her friend, should he awaken, anywhere they go. We can't afford to lose the witch. She's our best hope for destroying The Collective utterly… I've Seen it."

Farfarello nodded. He'd anticipated as much, and it was hardly as though he minded the assignment.

"I will be working with the Mainframe, using their contacts to narrow our search, and Nagi will do the same. We need to make this quick and efficient… the prize is worthwhile, but I doubt Eszet has the patience for a drawn-out war." He stood, taking his coffee to the sink and fastidiously rinsing the mug clean. "Takatori has a meeting the day after tomorrow with Sunsoon Corp., Schu. I expect you to be there, bright and early." With that, the Oracle returned to the privacy of his room.

"Fucking bastard," Schu muttered under his breath.

"Takatori or Crawford?"

"No, Crawford's a bastard, but he's a sly bastard. Takatori's the one I'd like to spread liberally over a bed of spikes."

Farfarello shrugged. "As would I. But we are under orders."

"Always under orders." Schuldich stretched and yawned. "If I wasn't so inventive, I'd never get to have any fun."

"Inventive and cruel," Farfarello pointed out, smiling the predator's smile. "A bad combination."

Schu returned the grin. "But oh, SO good…."

X-X-X


	7. Chapter 7

Nagi had already filled his mug with hot chocolate and wandered into the living room before he realized that the apartment was absolutely, spookily empty. A quick check of Crawford's, Schuldich's, and Farfarello's rooms revealed that all three of them were out somewhere, Crawford probably accompanying Takatori to some lavish opera or dinner and Schu and Farf having a night out on the town. Nagi wryly made a mental note to check the papers in the morning, in case any clergy had been violently dismembered.

He tried to sit quietly in the darkened living room with his drink, but without anyone around, he felt inexplicably restless. He'd just managed to pull himself out of the sucking embrace of the virtual world, his last night of freedom before Crawford set him on the task of tracking down The One. It wasn't so much their location he would be searching for, but information on other psychics who had achieved this sort of telepathic collective, what the weaknesses of the link were, and what they could expect from those possessed by it. It promised to be interesting reading, but Nagi's eyes were tired, and he felt isolated without his laptop in front of him, connecting him to the entire world by virtue of a single cable. If only somebody had been around, perhaps Schuldich, who toyed with Nagi far too much for his liking, but in all seriousness was still his friend. Perhaps Crawford, with his calming presence and the quiet, intelligent conversation he knew they could have had.

At least they don't think I need a babysitter, he observed to himself, smiling at the thought.

A noise from another room captured his attention and he stood. He knew it wasn't from any of the rooms he had already checked and he realized he had forgotten about Sabbath entirely. He knocked at the door to her room, thinking that maybe at this late hour, she would be asleep. But her voice, sounding strained, drifted out from behind the door.

"Come in."

He cracked the door open and peeked inside, noting the ritual circle with some curiosity. Her telepath friend lay in it, and Sabbath sat outside of it, the candles burned down to stumps and her body curled over itself, head resting on her knees.

"Sabbath?" he said quietly, taking one step into the room, socks whispering on the hardwood floor. "Is something wrong?"

She sighed and sat back on her hands, finally turning her head to look up at him. "His soul was fractured," she explained matter-of-factly. Her dark eyes were grim. "It couldn't anchor successfully back to his body because The Collective already had a piece of it. And he was stuck in limbo because of it, going mad from the split."

Nagi's eyes widened slightly and he stepped fully into the room, looking at the circle, and at the body.

The dead body.

"You killed him?" His tone was flat, empty of accusation. They had known from the beginning that this might be necessary, after all. And he hadn't known this telepath, so the blonde's death meant very little to him.

Sabbath shrugged. "I don't know that you could really say that. I cut his soul's connection to his body. Sometimes the body can live on after that, but in this case, the shock of separation sent him into cardiac arrest. I couldn't have saved him and there was no reason to try; without a soul, he's just a corpse that breathes, anyway."

Nagi nodded once, in understanding, and hesitated. His toes curled on the floor, feeling the uneven wood beneath them. Finally, he broke the heavy silence. "Would you like some help with the body?"

Sabbath's gaze snapped back to him and she smirked, and he returned it. There was irony in the emotions they both SHOULD have been feeling, standing over such an empty-looking corpse on the floor. Human beings had natural reactions toward death, feelings of loss, of sadness, of fear. He didn't know what Sabbath felt about her friend's death. Schuldich had told him that Sabbath had violently murdered the three members of the Collective who had done this to him. Perhaps she had been concerned about him then, but three days of sitting with his comatose body had distanced her from him. Or perhaps she was just not emotional about death. The latter seemed to him to be the truth. Death was a common occurrence in his life, in the lives of Schwarz. Even Nagi had killed over a dozen times, and his presence on the field was rarely required.

"Thank you, Nagi," she said quietly, standing and looking over the circle. With a single, abrupt motion, she dragged her foot through the chalk lines, smearing and to a degree erasing them. "The circle is open but never broken," she said quietly. "So mote it be."

Nagi watched as she picked up and put away her supplies. The top of her altar was a lid that lifted, revealing stacked shelves. She threw away the candles and set aside the tools, pulling out a ceramic bowl and setting it on top of the altar. "I did my best, but I failed, and that failure will linger with me," she explained to him as she placed the crystals and her athame, which Nagi suddenly realized had probably been used to sever her friend's soul from his body, into the bowl. "My tools will need to be cleansed. I don't know that we can bury him…" she turned her gaze back toward the body. "Most cemeteries keep a sharp lookout for disturbances to the graves. And I don't want to just leave him somewhere. The trail might lead back to Schwarz if he's found."

"And to you," Nagi pointed out, and Sabbath laughed.

"I'm irrelevant. It isn't likely anyway… there isn't a mark on him. It looks like he had heart failure, which is the truth. But just in case…"

"The ocean," Nagi suggested. "We could take him there."

"It's a long way to go," Sabbath warned him. "A long way to lug a body, and Ray's not small." She motioned to his six-foot frame, easily over two-hundred pounds. "I guess if we could find a big enough suitcase, we could break his spine."

Nagi had to shudder slightly at the casual way she said that, but he agreed that it would be the easiest way to transport the body. "I think Farf has a large one that rolls. Don't ask me why… he never fills it." Nagi slipped off to find the suitcase, hoping rather selfishly that Sabbath could snap her own friend's body in half by herself rather than requiring him to do it. When he returned, pulling the suitcase, she was in the process of trying very hard to break his spine in the middle, mostly by planting a foot on his lower back and pulling up on his shoulders.

Nagi took pity on her, even though she didn't look like it bothered her to be doing it. "Here." Reaching out with his Power, he brought a sharp and precise blow down on the bones and heard them crack.

Sabbath smiled at him with genuine warmth, and he felt oddly gratified. "Thanks."

"No problem," he told her, shrugging and levitating the body into the suitcase, as tightly folded as he could get it. The suitcase still bulged, but it closed when Nagi let Sabbath try to zipper it. He'd noticed that women always seemed to be able to stuff suitcases fuller than men. Or maybe Sabbath just had the witch's touch with zippers. She pushed on the front of the suitcase to flatten it, so it wasn't so obviously a body inside, and stood up. "Is there a car we can take or will it have to be the bus?"

"We only have one official driver, and he would be with Crawford," Nagi told her. "It will have to be the bus."

She nodded. "Go and pack a backpack. It doesn't have to be heavy, just full. And get your laptop case."

Used to obeying orders and somewhat comforted by the calm, efficient way Sabbath gave them, he moved away to do just that. He stuffed a blanket into his backpack and filled the other compartment with clothes, so that it looked lumpy and full, but weighed very little. When he returned to her with his bags in tow, she already had a large duffle back stuffed with something, probably clothing, and her purse with the strap across her chest. She was no longer in her flowing black ritual garb, having slipped into black sweatpants and a light blue Care Bears hoody. He had to smirk at the rainbow and the smiling stars that decorated the front. It was so like her, and yet so unlike her, a weird and misleading paradox. Looking at those stars, one could almost believe she was innocent.

Sabbath picked up the lever on the suitcase and nodded to him. "Let's go. It's a long ride to the waterfront and we'll have to change busses a time or two."

He nodded and they locked the apartment behind them, taking the elevator down and slipping out the back way to avoid the office. They had to walk for several blocks before they could catch a bus and they did so in silence, Nagi giving the suitcase a small levitational push to help Sabbath get it onto the bus when it stopped.

They sat in the middle, Sabbath leaning against the window and staring at something only she could see, Nagi with his blank gaze focused down the aisle. They were the only people on the bus this late, and it was sort of comforting, the quiet and the steady rattle of the vehicle as it made its way through the streets.

"Are you sorry he's dead?" Nagi asked abruptly, startling Sabbath from her daydream. She tilted her head at him and looked thoughtful, then nodded.

"Yes. But I did my best. Dead is dead, and honestly, I was fairly certain I wouldn't be able to bring him back. We couldn't get back the piece they stole from him, so I sent him to the Summerlands. And now he's whole."

"The Summerlands? Is that like Heaven?"

She smiled. "No. It's more like a very nice waiting room. We all have several chances at life, and in between lives, we stay there, to rest, to reflect on what we've learned, and to decide when we'll return to earth again. If we return."

"So you believe in reincarnation."

Sabbath laughed. "Don't you?" she inquired, her eyes dancing with knowledge she had and he didn't. "You're an old soul, Nagi. I'm surprised you don't know it."

He turned cerulean-blue eyes on her, vaguely puzzled. "What do you mean, 'I'm an old soul'?"

Sabbath stretched in the plastic seat and it creaked under her as the lights of the street passed them by. Slightly surreal, almost spiritual, this late-night exodus. Nagi felt almost high. "You've lived a few times already, accumulated an Old Soul's quiet disposition. You're older in spirit than you are in body, and very little really surprises you or wrings an emotional response from you. And it isn't because you're jaded. It's because even though you don't remember it up here…" she tapped her forehead, in the center, just above her eyes. "You've done most of this before."

"Schuldich doesn't seem to have trouble surprising me," Nagi pointed out with a shred of humor.

Sabbath threw her head back and laughed, and he was somewhat taken aback by the strength of her reaction. "I don't think there are two of Schuldich in all the world or throughout history," Sabbath told him when she'd calmed enough to speak. "Schuldich, like me, is a BRAND new soul. He often acts immaturely and doesn't usually seem to comprehend the full weight of his actions. He doesn't realize, or believe, that karmic justice will find him someday."

"So you're a brand new soul?" Nagi inquired. Something about that didn't quite mesh with him. She was too old for her age to be brand new, but sometimes she acted so incredibly young, he didn't know.

"I've done this once before," she told him solemnly. "Maybe twice. I haven't delved into my past lives. Very much is still new to me, but there are things I know a great deal about already, the important things. A lot of enthusiasm and a few shreds of wisdom, I suppose you could say. I like the combination, personally, but I've noticed it tends to confuse others." She smiled at him.

Nagi gave her a sort of half-smile, in return. "I know Crawford is old," he said quietly. "But tell me something… what do you think of Farfarello?"

"Mm," Sabbath said, nodding as she considered his question. "Farf's a hard one to pin down. Pain, loss, and hatred aged him before his time. No child should experience what little I understand of what he experienced. None the less, I think he's young. Very young. Because an old soul would not have so easily broken under the strain of what he suffered and gone mad, and an old soul's hatred of God would have been tempered by experience, remembered or not. In fact, like Schu… I'm rather certain this is Farf's first time. He had the ultimate trust of a true child and when it shattered, so did he."

Nagi considered that for a moment. "There are times," he said slowly, hands folded in his lap, "when he makes perfect sense. When he's almost sane. Fairly often, actually, and he's just quiet and very smart."

Sabbath smiled. "Wisdom and intelligence are two different things, Nagi, as any gamer will tell you. Would you like to venture a guess as to my IQ?"

Nagi blinked. "Um… one hundred and… thirt…y?"

She laughed. "Don't worry, I'm not going to be offended." Settling down, she pinned him under her gaze, brown eyes sparkling. "One hundred sixty-three."

"But that's…."

"Genius level. Yes, I know. Remember what I said? Wisdom and intelligence are NOT the same thing. Farf's IQ could be off the chart, and it probably is when he's thinking in a straight line, but that doesn't mean he's mature. The hatred he holds toward God is not a sign of wisdom, it's a childish need for revenge." She smiled. "I'm very immature a good deal of the time. The only thing that keeps me in check, often, is the hand of the Goddess on my life. I draw on Her wisdom and She helps me to avoid the largest pitfalls."

"It must be nice to be able to talk to her so clearly in your head, like you were when Schu tried to barge in," Nagi said, thinking wistfully of what it would be like to have a deity watching over you, a wise one that loved you and was close to you and touched your life so directly that, like Sabbath, you could do magick.

Sabbath smiled. "Yes, it is. She will always be there, in the appropriate guise, for those who seek Her. She has many aspects and many forms, but those who seek Her will always know Her and there is always a place for them at Her feet."

"Do you think…" He stopped, unwilling to even broach the subject. He half felt as though Farfarello would appear behind him and slit his throat for toying with the madman's emotions so.

"Go ahead," Sabbath said quietly.

"Do you think Farfarello might get better if he believed in a different God? One like yours?" Nagi blurted out. "Do you think it might help him if he could… I don't know, not believe in Christianity anymore?"

Sabbath did not answer him at first. They rode for twenty minutes in silence and then got off to change busses and still she said nothing. When they were on a bus bound for the waterside, she finally stirred in her seat and spoke slowly, the weight of emotion and wisdom behind her words.

"I don't think it would help him. I don't really know why. Logically, I suppose it should. But I've got a feeling, call it Witch's Intuition: Farf's demons go beyond God and deeper, and changing deities won't fix them as easily as any of us would like." She smiled and he felt her fingers play with a wisp or two of his hair. "It's kind of you to care so much."

Nagi flushed slightly and looked away. "Well… he's… part of my team. And when he's feeling mostly sane, he's usually very nice to me. He doesn't treat me like I'm a child. Schu and Crawford still do that a lot of the time."

Sabbath nodded. "He doesn't treat me like I'M a child either. I'm only two years older than you, you realize, and Farfarello is only a year or two older than me."

"He's that young?" Nagi's lips pursed. "How do you know?"

She laughed. "The scars, and the eye, make him look older, don't they? But he has naturally young features, so if I'm estimating his age, I'd say he's two years older than I am, at the most. Probably only one."

"Oh." Nagi paused and appraised her. "How old are you, exactly?"

"I'm eighteen," she told him quietly. "I'll be nineteen in a few days, on the tenth."

"Really? You're only eighteen?" Nagi smiled weakly at her. "I thought you were older."

"Changes things a bit, doesn't it?" She laughed.

"Happy Birthday," he told her earnestly. "I know it's early."

"I don't give a shit. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

The bus pulled to a stop and they hauled their luggage off, trudging together along the waterfront. To any observers, they might have looked like siblings returning home from the airport, or perhaps a sleepover. That was precisely the image Sabbath had been trying to cultivate by getting Nagi to bring a backpack and his laptop case along.

They found a stretch of water that was uninhabited and quickly bundled Ray's body out of the suitcase. "Take it out far," Sabbath whispered to Nagi. "And sink it deep." Her hands settled on his shoulders and somehow, he found that it was easier to concentrate that way. Telekinesis at a distance was usually very difficult for him, but everything felt sharply focused, as though his eyesight, and his range, had extended. He floated the corpse out over the water, barely a foot above the choppy waves, until it was just a speck to both of them. With a mental heave, he forced it down into the water, pushing it deep when it wanted to float, until he felt the bottom of the harbor under his mind's hand. He pushed silt up over it, gritting his teeth with the effort, pinning a limb or two down with a stone before finally releasing it and stumbling back into Sabbath with a gasp. Precision work at such distance, without being able to see what he was doing, was straining to him. She seemed to understand that, and kept an arm around him as she stood up and headed back for the bus stop. They would have to sit for about twenty minutes before the next bus came along, here in the quiet night.

"Shouldn't we throw the suitcase away?" Nagi wondered as they found a bench.

Sabbath gave him a knowing smirk. "Somehow, I doubt Farfarello will mind that there was another dead body in it."

"Another dead body?"

"Well, think, Nagi. Why do you think Farfarello needs such a big suitcase?"

Nagi chose not to answer that.

X-X-X

Nagi had to admit; Sabbath made an excellent cup of tea. He wasn't entirely sure what he was drinking, but he noticed that it warmed him from the inside out and seemed to calm the jitters he'd had all night. He was as relaxed as only his computer made him, sitting low in the plush armchair with Sabbath curled up on the couch across from him. There was a very small white candle burning on the low table between them, standing in a shallow dish of water. It was a tiny flame, but it was amazing how much light it shed on the darkened living room. And this light was kinder than the electric light Nagi could have gotten by turning on the lamp. It made the room look alive and somewhat mysterious.

"So there's no damnation for witches?" he asked quietly, turning his mug between his hands. "No hell?"

She smiled. "Well, there's Hel, but that's only Norse mythology. No, witches do not damn anyone. There is no Hell, there is no lake of fire. We come to earth, we live, we learn, we die for a while and we return again until we understand. Until we are mature enough to live in harmony with all things, without having to rape the earth or hurt each other."

"But what about murderers and rapists? They don't get punished?"

She laughed. "You haven't been listening. Punishment does not occur in the afterlife, it occurs in LIFE. People who hurt others bring down karmic retribution on their own heads, either in that life or the next, or even the next. It might take time, but justice will ALWAYS be done because nature, and The Goddess, are always fair."

Nagi pondered that. "So… if someone raped you tomorrow, and got away from the authorities, you wouldn't worry because you know that someday he'll still be punished."

Sabbath smirked. "Karmic justice takes many forms. There's nothing stopping me from hunting him down and raping him… with a broadsword."

"The law," Nagi pointed out, wincing at the phantom pain produced by the image.

Sabbath shrugged. "Who says I'd get caught? Justice is justice. Then again, my motives would not be pure, so it's unlikely that I'd be the instrument of justice in that case unless he was pretty much handed to me. Wouldn't want ME to rack up some bad points in trying to even things out. There's a fine line between justice and revenge, and it's a line best walked by She who is wise enough to judge between them."

"So you just… deliver justice into the hands of your goddess and leave it?" Disbelief laced his tone.

Sabbath smiled at him. "I could. I trust that she would bring it about for me. But She helps those who help themselves. If I really wanted Justice, and if I really wanted to prove that I am greater than he who wounded me, I wouldn't go after him myself. Instead, I would do a binding. I would tie his hands, magickally, stop him from doing harm, and send him stumbling into the hands of the police."

He shook his head. "That sounds too virtuous for you. I think you'd just hunt him down and kill him."

She laughed. "Well… all right, maybe. But binding him and getting him caught would be the RIGHT thing to do. And believe it or not, most of the time I DO try to do the right thing, whatever that is. It's just that to me, the 'right thing' is not based on the Ten Commandments or any derivative thereof. It's based on Her judgment and my own discretion, which She allows me."

"And how do you know if you make the right choice?"

She shook her head. "Experience. Wisdom. It's how we learn, by making choices. And if I make a mistake, I will gladly take the consequences for it. That is what separates a true witch from one who wields magick for their own ends; our willingness to own up to our own actions, be they positive or negative, and our goal throughout everything that no matter what, none should be harmed. It's our law, our Rede: An ye harm none, do as ye will."

"So, as long as you're not hurting anybody, you get to do anything you want to?"

"Yep. Drink myself stupid, trip on acid, sleep with every boy on the block and a few of the girls as well, prance around naked and dye my hair bright blue. Of course, 'an ye harm none' also includes yourself, so a few of those activities would require some caution in the undertaking. Do you understand?"

"I think so." He took another sip of his tea. "But you don't follow that law. You killed all those Collective…."

She shook her head. "First, they are already dead. There is no soul there, no spirit, only Power and body. Second, given how many unwilling souls they have expelled from their bodies, how many lives they have stolen, they have it coming. Third, if I don't kill them, they will kill me, so it's also self-defense. But that's only in the case of the Collective. I will admit… I share my Mother's hunger for blood and death. I try to keep it under control, but I am a violent person and I always have been."

"Your mother? I thought she was about life."

"When I say 'my mother', Nagi, I'm speaking of my patron Goddess, Kali Ma. She's the Hindu goddess of death and destruction. That may sound evil, but death is a natural part of life, and in order to create, something must always be destroyed first. She is the balance and the darkness, from which we all came and to whom we will all eventually return. She delights in destruction but in all things upholds the balance of the universe." She chewed at a fingernail. "Of course, Kali, being a Mother, is very protective of her children. If there is revenge needed, or strength to overcome an adversary, she's an excellent patron."

"Does she want you to kill?" Nagi inquired, and for a moment, Sabbath considered.

"She wants me to live. She does not mind if I kill."

Nagi nodded and they sat in silence for a while as he mulled over the conversation they'd been having for the last two hours. Her religion was a strange one, mostly because it seemed to allow for everything and refused to outright condemn anything or anyone. Even death was not condemnation because there was no hell, just another life waiting beyond the white tunnel.

"So what happens when we're all enlightened?" he asked suddenly. "What happens when everybody is harmonious and nobody wants to hurt anybody anymore?"

"Well, opinions on that differ," she told him. "We could shed our bodies permanently and become part of The Goddess, return to her. Or we could live in paradise for a while. Personally, I don't want to live in paradise. Paradise would be pleasant for a few minutes and unendingly boring after that. A world full of pain is where I belong, as Her hands."

"Are you trying to ease pain?"

She smiled. "Maybe. Tell me something, Nagi. Does it hurt to be invisible?"

He set his cup down with a clatter. "Wha… what?"

"Does it hurt to be invisible? You rarely speak, you blend with the shadows, you do as you're told without rocking the boat. And in return for your cooperation, you are mostly ignored, pushed aside, made little of. Does it hurt to be invisible or is that what you want?"

Nagi blinked, then looked at the floor. "I don't… I didn't…."

"Hush," she said gently, and he looked up in apprehension to see her smiling knowingly at him. "It's all right. There's a lot of wickedness aimed at Schwarz, surrounding all of you. Some of it of your own making. Your behavior ensures that most of it passes harmlessly over you. But listen to me; so far, nothing has been important enough to you to require your involvement. But someday, something will touch you. And when it does… do not sit quietly and take orders. Speak. Do. Dare to use your own discretion. Others aren't always the ones who know what's best for you." She held up her fingers and thumbs, forming a triangle. "We witches have a pyramid, four sides that lead to success: To Know, to Will, to Dare, and to Be Silent. When you know, and you WILL know, trust your own will, dare to defy others, and take solace in your own discretion."

He shook his head. "But Schwarz is my family. I won't do anything that causes risk to them."

"Maybe you will, maybe you won't. But they're big boys, Nagi, and they're survivors. When you see something you want, reach out with both hands. You're just as deserving to get what you want as everyone else in this world." She smirked. "And contrary to popular opinion, everyone deserves to be happy."

He shook his head and stood slowly. "Thank you for the tea," he said quietly. "I'll think about it. But I think you're wrong." He turned and moved slowly toward his room. He half expected that she would call him back or say something else, but she did not, and when his door closed behind him, he felt a peculiar lack of desire to sit down with his laptop.

Instead, he went to bed and tried to think of something that would ever make him defy Crawford, or risk Schwarz.

X-X-X


	8. Chapter 8

"Well, well, well. Isn't it past your bedtime, young lady?" Schuldich purred as he strode into the apartment and saw Sabbath curled over her laptop with a mug next to her and a single candle burning on the table. Farfarello was at his heels, and his head turned like a bird of prey's toward Nagi's room.

Sabbath gave Schuldich a look of deadly irritation. "Age before beauty."

Schu laughed. "Then I've got you beat in both categories," he shot back, falling back onto the other end of the couch and lounging with a low purr. "Either way, what's kept you up so late? It couldn't have taken that long to dispose of the corpse."

Sabbath shook her head at him and smirked wryly. "Sorry, Schu. If you think you're going to use Ray to get under my skin, you picked the wrong set of feelings to manipulate. The dead don't make good leverage. Farf, I hope you don't mind, but we had to get rid of his body so we borrowed your suitcase."

Farfarello tilted his head at her. "The spell failed?"

"His soul was fractured. I couldn't put him back in his body without shattering him entirely, so I sent him on."

Farfarello nodded and made a sound of approval, wandering over and leaning over the coffee table, hands splayed across the wooden surface as he peered into her mug. "Is there any more of that?" he asked flatly.

"In the kettle in the kitchen," she told him, and he slipped away.

"You and Farf get along rather well," Schu remarked, watching the Irishman's retreat to the kitchen. He turned a sly, knowing smirk on Sabbath. "You wouldn't happen to have enchanted him… would you?"

She snorted. "Of course not. That's blatantly unethical, messing with somebody else's free will just to magick them into wanting you."

Schu laughed. "I didn't say anything about a spell, little witch." Leaning in, a lock of brilliant hair fell silkily over his shoulder. "Do you think Farf can love? Come now, I'm interested in your opinion. I've seen into his mind, you know, and it's a burning, black ball of hatred. Perhaps he would be infatuated with you for a while, but eventually he would kill you." His fingers flicked, long and delicate, and pulled a speck of lint from her blue top. "A piece of advice, eh liebchen? Stay away from him. For your own safety."

Sabbath watched him for a moment, her features expressionless, but fury burning in her eyes. Then, still furious, she smirked sexily at Schuldich and leaned in, flicking that lock of hair back from his eyes. "A word of advice, eh guilt-trip? Mind your own business." Her upper lip curled back in a snarl.

Schuldich laughed. Sabbath felt a certain affection toward Farfarello, but nobody knew better than the telepath that that they were not in love. It was his audacity in telling her what to do that had her seething. So easy….

"But it is my business. We are Schwarz. You are not. You, my dear, are a temporary inconvenience with a few useful qualities, easily set aside and forgotten. Should the two of you ever make it into bed, remember that: he doesn't have it in him to love. Do you know how many bodies he has desecrated? You'd just be another body, and if he happened to feel the whim, another corpse."

"Thanks so much for your concern," Sabbath told him flatly, returning her attention to her computer.

Schu hiked an eyebrow, smirk widening. "Doesn't that concern you, liebchen? Or are you already so dead to everyone you cared about that your body doesn't matter to you?"

Sabbath sighed and shut the laptop. "Schu, you're good. Okay? You know exactly what my insecurities are and you do a wonderful job of exploiting them. But the problem is, I KNOW you're just exploiting them and I also know you're a liar. You'd say anything to get a rise out of me, and I just don't feel like rising to the occasion at the moment, all right? If you're that desperate to fuck with a psychopath, your precious Farfarello is right THERE." She pointed a finger and Schu sucked in a breath, glancing back.

Farf leaned in the kitchen doorway, a mug in his hand. There was no telling how long he'd been there, or what he'd heard.

"Actually," Farf told her with a slight smirk, "I don't feel like letting him irritate me either. It is too late and all sensible people are in bed."

"So what does that make you?" Schu tossed back at him, and Farf raised his mug and stretched, yawning as he padded toward his room.

"Sensible. Goodnight."

The door shut firmly and Sabbath snickered. "This just isn't your night, Schu. Nobody wants to play."

Schuldich shrugged and stood, tossing his hair back and slipping his hands into his pockets. "Oh well. You can't get all of the people all of the time." Still smirking, he ambled toward his own room, leaving Sabbath alone with her computer again. "Ja ne, koneko."

"Ja ne, baka," she said melodically, and he laughed before letting the door slam.

X-X-X

The park was small but busy, a local mecca of children and frazzled parents. Better, Crawford thought, than no parents at all. At least these took a bit of time from their busy days to do something with their children. Parenthood was a hell of a responsibility, which was one reason Crawford slightly resented Eszet for attempting to play parent for all of its psychics. Of course, most of those psychics had been abandoned or sold to Eszet by their parents.

He sat on the bench at the far end of the park, alone. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, his head tilted slightly back as he kept his gaze focused on nothing and mentally felt out along the time stream, the threads of the future glimmering to his senses with a thousand manifold colors and possibilities. There was Schuldich, there was Nagi, there was Farf. But Crawford refrained from examining Farfarello's strand. Given his insanity and his sometime-unpredictability, Farfarello's future contained so many possibilities that it was impossible for Crawford to sort out the most likely ones at the best of times. He noticed a peculiar congruency this time, but when a mental brush against those threads showed no danger to the Irishman, he moved on to his real target: the battle against The One and the probable outcomes. The threads wound and twisted and Crawford sank into them, mental fingers caressing and probing. He could not change these strands, could not change the weavings they made, but he could find the most probable outcomes in their knots and whorls.

He was distracted from close examination of a probability that involved an unexpected stroke of genius on The One's part by movement next to him. Blinking and straightening his glasses irritably, he glanced sideways and into the dry blue eyes of a tall man with spiky blonde hair, in rather simple, nondescript clothing. He was built, and Crawford hiked an eyebrow, catching sight of a scar or two along the man's arms.

The man simply smiled. "So, can you tell the weather too?"

Instantly on-guard, Crawford merely smirked and readjusted his gaze toward the children. "Well, at the moment, it seems to be sunny," he returned dryly.

"Oh, good. Just checking."

Crawford's eyes closed momentarily as he dove into the threads of the future, found his own, followed it, and found where it intersected with…. "So what merits the pleasure of your company today, Mr. Aurn?"

He was answered with a light chuckle. "You intrigued me."

"Indeed. What singular fortune." One slender finger rested on the bridge of his glasses as Crawford smirked again.

"Well, it's not everyday you get hired to kill a precognitive," Calan said matter-of-factly.

Crawford hiked an eyebrow, then chuckled. "But you're not going to kill me."

"… You're probably right. Like I said, you intrigued me, and it'd be a real shame to kill you if you can do everything they've said that you can." Calan's grin was ready, as he watched Crawford, his posture entirely relaxed.

"Really. And who is 'they'?"

Calan looked incredulous. "You don't know?"

"Why should I waste my time separating strands if you're just as likely to tell me?" He finally turned his own dark eyes to Calan, relaxing slightly as the future showed him no immediate danger.

Calan broke into a grin. "Kritiker."

Crawford glanced skyward. "Why am I not at all surprised?" He appraised Calan momentarily. "You don't seem like common Kritiker stock."

"I'm not. I'm a hired hand, because apparently nothing they have could do the job."

Crawford's smile was quick and deadly. "Ah, Weiß. They've made an admirable start, but like many angst-filled teenagers, I somehow doubt they'll be able to follow through. And do you think you can do better?"

"Well, I'M not a teenager, I'M not angst-ridden, and I'VE been doing this most of my life," Calan pointed out. "I'll let you draw from that information whatever you like."

"Then in terms of experience, it would seem we are much more equally matched. Are you that desperate for a true challenge, that you would risk Kritiker's displeasure and the loss of your bounty? Out of idle curiosity."

Calan looked up straight in the eye and said, forcefully, "Yes. I would. It's been SO long since I've had to exert any effort. And if you're asking if I'm afraid of Kritiker… the answer to that is a definite 'no'."

Crawford stifled a chuckle, finding himself immensely enjoying this conversation, and the possibilities it brought to bear. "Kritiker is hamstrung by their own hypocritical devotion to 'justice' as they see it."

"I make no claims of justice. I do what I have to do in a kill-or-be-killed world, and ultimately, it's all a matter of who decides who lives and who dies." Calan leaned back and stretched, eyes flicking to the clouds meandering above the skyscrapers. "Good, evil, they don't come into this, and I don't claim to sort out the trash."

"I find honesty to be a rare quality in assassins. You must be quite skilled to have survived so long," Crawford returned dryly.

"Well," Calan said with mild sheepishness, "when I actually intend to BE an assassin, I usually don't talk to my prey. But I was wondering if you'd be up to, say, some sparring?"

"Sparring?" Crawford's eyebrows raised.

"Fencing, aikido, jujitsu, karate, anything really. I'd challenge you to a game of chess, but since you're… you know… precognitive, that really wouldn't be fair."

He couldn't resist an inkling of true interest. "You fence?" he inquired politely, brief fond remembrance of his own formal training days flashing in his mind.

Calan smirked. "That I do."

"Well. As polite as it is of you to offer formal challenge, which I do, of course, appreciate, I'm sure you understand the inherent suspiciousness of your proposal. Why should I accompany you to a grounds of your choosing and place my neck on the chopping block? Figuratively speaking, of course." He flicked a speck of pollen from his jacket.

"Did I say it was of my choosing? I just offered to fence you." Calan thought a moment. "And I meant with foils, not caecilian style; with REAL rapiers."

"I wasn't aware that there was an appropriate facility nearby," he shot back, enjoying the verbal joust. "You're native to this area then?"

Calan laughed. "If there's a university anywhere within a few miles, there's fencing. And as I'm sure you know, there's a university not so far from here."

"Ah yes, the prestigious institution known as NYU," Crawford said with mild sarcasm.

Calan sighed and stood up. "Well, if you'd like to, I'm happy to oblige. If not, I'll be on my way… and we'll be seeing each other later."

Crawford considered the offer for a moment, then stood also and adjusted his glasses. "I graciously accept your invitation."

Calan broke into a grin. "Well, then. Shall we?"

"Let's," he said flatly, gesturing that Calan should lead the way.

X-X-X

"He's late," Schuldich said irritably, brushing back a lock of orange hair and folding his arms across his chest, looking imperious and highly annoyed.

Farfarello shrugged from the couch, where he was curled up like a cat with a book Schuldich hadn't managed to catch the title of.

"It's not as though we have anywhere to be," Nagi said quietly. He was standing over near the window, leaning against the frame. His usual outfit had become far too hot, so he'd shocked the hell out of Schuldich by appearing this morning in a t-shirt and jeans.

"But he usually doesn't take this long," the telepath muttered.

"Crawford is both intelligent and careful," Farfarello said absently. "The One wouldn't stand a chance."

Schu scowled. "Don't imply that I'm worried about him, because I'm not. But he's being damned inconsiderate by making ME baby-sit the both of you."

"Oh yeah, me, Farf, and Nagi. We're so hard to look after... and after you tuck us into bed you'll have to nail the roof back on," Sabbath said dryly, emerging from her bedroom.

Schu's eyes narrowed, but Nagi spoke before he could.

"If you're babysitting, you should let us have whatever we want to eat for dinner. I think we should get a cake."

Distracted by that entirely incongruous statement, Schu blinked at Nagi. "… Come again?"

"Cake," Nagi repeated quietly, then glanced up, cerulean blue eyes fixing on Sabbath's. He smiled shyly and Sabbath melted into an adoring grin.

"It's your birthday?" Schu said incredulously, picking up on the thoughts being echoed by the both of them.

"You care?" Sabbath shot back.

Farf glanced up from his book, head tilting. "Happy Birthday," he said flatly. Then his eyes switched to Schuldich. "Can we have cake?"

"Wha… when did –I– suddenly become the authority?" Schu demanded, and Sabbath snickered.

"Your fault, Schu. You declared yourself the babysitter."

Schu looked utterly bored and flipped Sabbath the finger, and she sashayed over to where Nagi stood and cuddled him briefly.

Nagi looked both flattered and uncomfortable, cheeks dark red.

"Oh, for GOD'S SAKE Nagi, it isn't as though you couldn't have any old woman you wanted if you'd just loosen up," Schuldich declared, hands making a sharp 'why me?' gesture as he turned toward the kitchen. "And I don't care if you all have cake. I don't care if you paint the walls with it. But there's another issue here, and that's…."

"How it inconveniences you that Crawford doesn't remain utterly predictable?" Farfarello proposed dryly.

"Fuck you too."

Just then, the door swung open and Crawford stepped inside. His hair was disheveled and his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, his shirt open at the neck with the sleeves rolled up. He looked incredibly satisfied with himself.

"He did NOT get laid," Schuldich muttered, in response to the first thought that popped up in Sabbath's head. He glanced at Crawford. "Did you? And you're late."

"I wasn't aware that I was operating under a schedule, Schuldich," Crawford told him negligently, striding past him and toward his own room.

Schu raised an eyebrow and gave Crawford's back a sardonic look. "And exactly where HAS our leader been? With a woman, as the little witch imagines? Off seeking the future?"

"I wasn't serious," Sabbath said crankily.

"Sorry, Schu, but it's really none of your business," Crawford said with a satisfied smirk, stepping through the doorway and turning to eye them. "And Sabbath?"

"I was trying to torment Schu!" she protested.

He waved a dismissive hand. "Not that. I was going to tell you that when you try to celebrate tonight, take someone with you. The One is stalking you. If you go alone, you won't escape them again." The door shut behind him.

Schu rolled his eyes. "And how does he think YOU'RE going to celebrate, liebchen? You can't even drink."

"We're not celebrating ANYTHING," Sabbath said firmly. "Nobody has given a shit about one of my birthdays for four years. Hell, I'm used to going out to dinner with myself."

Schu hiked a brow, taking a step closer to her. "What a shame. Most children would be crushed by such… callous disregard. But I'll bet you were crushed the first time, weren't you?" His lips spread in a grin, partly a baring of teeth.

Sabbath took her own step closer to him, smiled, and tilted her head back.

Schuldich's eyes widened and he let out a choked sound of pain, clutching his head and dropping to one knee as his teeth ground together. He lashed out instinctively and Sabbath was rocked back on her heels. She made an animal sound and fell hard on her ass, fingers digging so hard into the carpet that her nails bent back on themselves.

"Schu!" Nagi said sharply, seizing the telepath's shoulders and shaking him. When it did no good, he turned, only to find Sabbath's eyes open, narrow, and wild with rage, fixed on Schuldich as they kept up whatever mental battle they were engaged in. "Sabbath! Stop it! Stop it RIGHT NOW."

Sabbath cried out and convulsed, and Schu drew in a hitched breath. Then there was a dull thud and the telepath slumped even as Farfarello retracted his fist and straightened. Nagi looked up at the much-taller Irishman, blue eyes solemn.

"They've got to stop this," he said earnestly. "They'll kill each other."

Farfarello just looked from Nagi to Sabbath, who was gasping for breath, and then back at Nagi. "Do you think they care? Flint and steel will spark when they strike." He knelt and picked up Schuldich, who was merely stunned and quickly regaining his wits, and deposited him with unusual gentleness on the couch. "They will keep sparking until one defeats the other. Then, I suspect, they will stop. It is the nature of all creatures to establish routines of dominance and submission. Every time we stop them, we are only delaying the inevitable conclusion."

Nagi shook his head. "But that's idiotic."

Farfarello shrugged. "God cursed mankind with strife. Take it up with Him."

Realizing that the instant God came up in a conversation with Farfarello, that conversation turned futile, Nagi abandoned the attempt and picked Sabbath up off the floor. Schuldich sat up, meanwhile, rubbing his head.

"Bitch has a hell of a scream on her," he muttered bitterly.

Farfarello eyed him. "You're being stubborn, and I don't see what purpose it serves. You're not going to cow her. She turns hurt to rage."

"You wouldn't understand," Schuldich told him tiredly, lying back on the couch. "Just take her out. Do something. Leave me alone."

Farfarello's golden eye burned into him for a long moment, but then he nodded and helped Sabbath up. She was shaky, but her eyes were still burning with hatred, and he turned her away from Schuldich before she could leap onto the couch and maul him with her teeth and nails. Nagi faded back toward the window as he walked her toward the door, the smell of her anger slowly intoxicating him, making him want to hurt something.

"You two really deserve each other," Schuldich said flatly as Farfarello's hand closed around the doorknob. "Have fun, kids."

Farf chose not to honor that with a reply.

X-X-X


	9. Chapter 9

By the time they walked past St. August Cathedral and there was a light on in the rectory, the need was too strong to ignore. They'd been pacing the streets in utter silence, two shadowed figures who radiated enough menace that the local population had left them entirely alone. Sabbath didn't speak and there was no need for words. He understood the way things seemed to pile up around a person and then constrict, until the slightest stimulus could lead to explosion. Why Schuldich had to keep throwing sticks on the fire was beyond Farfarello, but then again, very few people even had the potential to understand the telepath. Sometimes Farf thought he might be close, but then Schu would always pull something so incomprehensible it boggled even him.

Sabbath, on the other hand, was real, visceral, and very much present at his side, keeping pace. She was lost in thought again, but not quite as dead to the world as the last time he'd seen her in this state. When he slowed to a stop, she stopped too, and after a moment she actually twitched and looked at him. He was staring at that light, lips slightly parted, pupil contracted to a pinpoint surrounded by hungry golden light.

She looked mildly confused, but then when she saw the light in the window, comprehension dawned. Farfarello glanced down at her, gauging her reaction. Emotions warred in her face and then a muscle in her jaw stood out.

At the moment, the sudden rise of anticipation in his chest seemed like just that; anticipation. Much later, looking back, he'd see this as the moment he fell in love with the crazy little witch.

"It can be risky. If the police come…"

"Then we'll have to make sure nobody picks up the phone," she said frankly.

Farf smiled slowly, and she shook out her hair and held out a hand. 

"I know you have a knife."

He slipped one free from the many hidden sheaths in his clothing and offered it to her; she took it and tested its weight, plying a finger at the edge.

"Have you ever killed before?" he inquired flatly. "The Collective doesn't count. They are not people."

She shook her head. "No. But before we worry about popping that cherry, let's pop the phone lines." Her voice was utterly emotionless and sharp with clipped efficiency.

He nodded, and without a word, she circled around the right side of the church and he around the left.

Moments later, they met behind the church, in the tiny graveyard. She nodded toward the back door, then turned and went back around the front, tucking her knife into her hoody as she went. He slipped up to the door and looked through the narrow, dirty window. There was light back there, light like the light of God that shone in every human being. That creative spark, that creative essence, the thing he wanted to snuff out, the piece of God he wanted to kill. He waited five minutes, then six, and then he tested the doorknob. It was locked, so he slammed his fist through the window. The glass was thick but it shattered, sending shards across the dull carpet inside. Fumbling through the window, feeling pressure as jagged chips of glass dug into his arm and the warmth as blood trickled out of the cuts, he found the lock and the bolt, higher up along the frame, and slid them both back.

The door opened for him and no one came running to see what had happened. Just his luck.

He searched each room methodically, the small kitchen, the Sunday School rooms, the offices, until he reached the sanctuary. No one was there… probably a lone priest, holding vigil, or perhaps a parishioner in desperate need of Divine intervention. He slipped into the sanctuary through the rectory door and found a priest sweeping the floor as Sabbath lit one of the votive candles at the feet of the Virgin Mary. She seemed to sense him, and turned, flashing him a black smile as she cupped the small candle in her delicate hands. He returned the look, baring his teeth as he crept up on the priest. The older man started to turn toward Farfarello, but then a sweep of Sabbath's arm sent all the candles clattering off of the pedestal to shatter on the floor and spill wax, and fire, everywhere. Startled, the priest turned in her direction, and that was when Farfarello slid up behind him and clapped a hand over his mouth.

The man struggled but when the cold edge of a blade was pressed to his throat, he quieted, fearful. Farfarello watched as Sabbath slowly stood up, setting her candle where the others had been, right in the middle of the pedestal.

"You know," She said casually, turning to face them. "Some Wiccans believe the Virgin Mary is just another manifestation of The Goddess. Though She was surmounted and made irrelevant by the God raised up by man, she returned in one of her many guises, that of Holy Mother, to guide and comfort the women oppressed by the God's regime. But Mary was only one aspect of Her, and not one I've ever been particularly fond of. She did her job, though. She brought some people peace. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, for you have lost your son on Calvary and suffered much grief and pain. You are the mother scorned, the mother hated. You are the mother who cannot touch your children, blind and deaf to help your son when he hung on the cypress tree. You, like the women you are supposed to guide and protect, are impotent." Her teeth bared and she snarled. "THIS is your rendition of our Goddess?"

The priest made muffled protests but Farfarello squeezed tighter.

"I've got another quote for you, father. How about this? 'All evil stems from carnal lust, which is, in a woman, insatiable.' Do you recognize your own evil book? Do you recognize the tome that led your predecessors to slaughter hundreds of thousands of innocent women and men? Do you understand the hypocrisy in the statement when so many of your brothers in CHRIST look with lust at altar boys? Do you understand the LIE?"

Farfarello watched her, entranced by her fury, as she stalked closer, gaze fixed on the priest. "God has abandoned you this night, father. And you know what? It doesn't matter if you curse him before you die or not. You're still going to die. Because today, MY GODDESS subsumed your lying GOD."

Her right hand slipped into her left sleeve. She drew the knife. The priest screamed behind Farfarello's hand and Farf kneed him sharply in the groin. He doubled over, scream choked off. When Farf looked up, Sabbath was smiling at him. "Do I need a knife?" she asked, and he shook his head.

Twin blades clattered to the floor and they set upon the priest with tooth and claw.

He screamed until a twist of Farfarello's knuckles paralyzed his vocal chords. Then he only rasped, flailing on the stone floor as four hands sought out the tender places of his body, peeling back the skin, tearing the muscle, seeking out the hot blood inside. Sabbath pulled up double-handfuls of intestines and yanked them loose, spattering blood wildly. And as the man convulsed in his dying throes, Farfarello's hands dove in alongside Sabbath's, seeking the life and the light inside him. The spirit flared and Farfarello found a beating organ and closed his hands around it, and then it stuttered even as he dug his nails in.

The spirit fled.

A heave of Sabbath's shoulders split the corpse in two with the sound of ripping skin and Farfarello sat back in the puddle, gazing at his bloodied hands. She was breathing hard, shoulders heaving, arms plunged almost up to the elbow in viscera. She moved her arms and there was a snap.

"I want to break everything," she whispered, the sound as loud as a thunderclap in the utterly silent stone sanctuary.

He watched a drop of blood fall from his fingertips to the floor and vanish in the growing pool of it. He looked up and her and she at him, understanding fully that she had just crossed a spiritual and moral line. She had murdered. This was not self defense, this was not justifiable. It was rage and bloodlust and she had given into it, let him drag her down the spiral path of insanity. She withdrew her hands and rubbed the fingers together. "It's sticky," she said dully.

"And thick, and hot," he agreed, placing a hand, palm-down, on the bloodied carcass. "Do you like the taste?"

"It's sweet, like copper and salt."

"Then drink." He tilted his head back and raised his hand, making a fist out of which blood dribbled freely. It spattered his lips and tongue and he swallowed, running that tongue along his hand to lap up the rest of it.

Sabbath brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and left a bloody streak. His fingers quickly caught her chin and her bloody hands found his neck and pulled him down. His tongue flicked along her cheek and collected honeyed blood and the scent of patchouli, and then he fastened his mouth at her neck and bit down on a small fold of skin. She arched up into him, just as the priest had convulsively arched, but it was different, all different. He felt her hands slid along his head, spreading redness in his frost-white hair and tightening in the short-cropped strands. Moving up, he found her ear and she turned, and his tongue slipped the taste of human blood into her mouth, salty liquid stinging her lips and settling like deep musk in the back of her throat. The force of his kiss bore her back and only his arm snaking around her waist kept her from falling back into the blood puddle. After all, it wouldn't do to track blood into the apartment. He pulled her against him. She was so slender, but so firm, like a cat, and her spine bent backward almost double as he shifted beneath him. His tongue found hers and tangled with it and she nipped at his, teeth finding his lower lip and tugging on it sharply. He tangled his other hand in her hair, the strands sticking to his fingers.

A soft gasp distracted him and he tore his mouth from her, narrow eye instantly pinning down the source of the exclamation. One nun, a single woman, who had just come down the stairs with a dish towel in her hands and was now staring at the scene before her, trembling uncontrollably. She was inches from a set of shrieking hysterics and as Farf and Sabbath hurriedly disentangled themselves, twin expressions of bloodlust fixing on the poor nun, she whirled and ran toward the back door.

"Go," Sabbath breathed, and Farf grunted as he pushed off the floor and bounded after her. Sabbath sprang to her feet and followed him.

He had not locked the door after entering through it, which struck him now as stupid. The bolts, at least, would have slowed the woman down. But she made it out the door and down the steps and fled across the small graveyard, toward the houses on the other side.

Farfarello burst out of the church behind her, a silent, slim devil on her heels. He quickly caught up with her and reached out, but she stopped, twisted, and doubled back the way she'd come, leaving him to reverse his sprint as his momentum allowed. Looking back his way, she ran back toward the church even as Farf tried to pull about and slipped on wet grass, skidding on his knees. He'd just found his feet and was about to start off in pursuit again when Sabbath planted a foot on a grave marker, leaped, and came down in a full tackle on the fleeing woman, knocking her solidly to the earth and sending the breath whooshing out of her lungs. The nun opened her mouth to gasp and Sabbath planted her forearm solidly in it, pressing down hard and preventing the nun from biting, lest the woman bite her own captured lips.

Farfarello stalked quietly toward them. She noticed him and her eyes went very wide as she began to kick and struggle. Sabbath was a small girl who weighed very little, but she wound her limbs around the nun and held her. And then Farf was there, twisting his fingers in the woman's hair and pulling thoughtfully.

"We should take her inside," he suggested. "It would give us more time to play."

Sabbath extricated herself and sat back as Farfarello manhandled the woman to her feet. She stared wildly at Sabbath's blood-streaked face, though with the all-black garb, it didn't show much on her clothing. "You're evil," she whimpered.

Sabbath hiked an eyebrow. "And forgive us sinners, now and at the hour of our death."

X-X-X

When they went back to the apartment to change clothes and shower, everyone else had already gone to bed. Farfarello wandered out of the bathroom in battered jeans, rubbing a towel over his head and chest, to find Sabbath already curled up with a mug of tea. She wore black drawstring pants and a too-large olive-green hoody, the sleeves of which overshot her hands by about seven inches. Her feet were bare, and he found it endearing how the toes curled under as if cold. Was she feeling a chill now, shaken to the bone? Did she regret that night and the lives they had so casually taken? He stood and watched her and she glanced up at him, eyes narrowing briefly in indecision before she melted into a wry smile and laughed.

"You look like you expect me to throw a hysterical fit any minute now," she told him dryly.

Farfarello shrugged. "Schuldich did, the first time he watched me do that. He got used to it quickly. Now, he simply thinks it's amusing. Every once in a while he participates."

"I don't know what I think yet," she told him. "I'm shaken. Here." A fist clasped to her chest. "And at the same time, I'm horrified and thrilled. There's this heady sense of power, and justification, and revenge. And at the same time, there's sadness and loss, like I've been empowered and diminished at the same time."

"The spark of God in you tries to pull you back," Farfarello told her quietly as he prowled over to the couch. He sat beside her, feet crossed and knees pulled up to his chest. "You can still be forgiven, now. You can still return to his kingdom."

Sabbath made a snorting sound. "Fuck his kingdom. It's Her displeasure I'm worried about." Dark brown eyes fixed on Farf's and he waited expectantly. "I keep telling myself that there is destruction and there is creation, and this is the balance of life. There HAVE to be destroyers. It's because humanity has no natural predators that we suffer from such an overpopulation crisis right now. But at the same time, I realize that what we did tonight was destruction without purpose. Nothing was created out of this. It was hatred set free, and that only leads to bad karma."

"Did not Kali delight in wanton destruction as well?"

She sighed. "She did. She danced on ashes and was more than a little wicked. But she was balanced, that's the key. There's a balance here I'm trying to find, and what we just did doesn't seem to fit into it." She shook her head. "I don't know why I'm worried. Kali's got her share of death cults who'd have applauded what I just did. But it wasn't really justice, even though it felt like it. I don't know that that priest ever did anything wrong. He might have been pious. He might have been tolerant of others and gentle and understanding. And the nun, she might have been raped and chose to forswear men after that, to take succor in God's arms." She laughed. "Funny how I'm having romantic thoughts about Christians after killing two of them."

"The angel in you tries to spread its wings," he whispered, and her eyes found his again. "Feel them beat against your ribcage as your heart pounds. It is God. He weeps. Can you hear him?" He placed a hand on her stomach and felt the flutter. "Can you feel it?"

Her lips parted and she nodded. "Beating feathers and fluttering bat wings. Everything wants to burst out."

"Is your hatred gone?"

She paused and looked introspective. "I don't feel it right this minute. But I don't know if it's gone forever. I guess it takes time to know."

He leaned in and pressed that hand against her stomach. She was warm. "Right now, for a few moments… I don't feel it either. All I feel is endless quiet, a cold sort of peace, and God's tears raining down endlessly. Weeping for a broken creation…"

"And beloved children too stubborn to listen to him?"

He smirked. "Yes. And that too."

She smiled. "So. What do my doubts mean to you? Am I a liability now, or just a disappointment?"

He shook his head. "None of those. Had you felt no regret, I would know you had no soul. Had you flown into hysterics, I would have been disappointed. But you are you. You do not push the past aside like chaff and you do not give in when the terror sucks at you. You think, you reason, and you decide how to act. You learn. I feel regret with every one of God's creatures I kill. Somewhere in me, I know it could have been different, that I could be as happy as some of God's oblivious children today, had I only remained blind. I have a soul still, even if it is black."

"You wallow in the hatred," she said quietly, "to push away the sadness and the loss."

"And when the hatred is gone, when the sadness and loss are all that remain in quiet, late-night moments like this, in the silence…."

Her head shot up. "…. You feel pain."

He smiled.

She laughed then, disbelief ringing in her tone. "How many psychologists would have spent thousands of hours trying to wring that out of you?" she wondered rhetorically. "How many profilers will expound for years on your reasons for doing what you do? And all it takes is killing with you, just once, to know it."

Farf shrugged. "Why do you think that is?"

She thought some more, and he watched her. She thought a great deal, but her thoughts did not stay her actions, he had noticed. A bit of tempered experience, but not a total loss of spontaneity. He liked it that she thought like this, and that she was brutally, utterly honest when she answered him. She did not hide things, hoping to conceal the shadows on her soul. That, he decided, was why Schuldich's success rate with her was so low. She was honest with herself, and nothing he could pull out of the depths of her mind to haunt her with was feared enough to hold sway over her. She had no secrets.

"Because I had to see through your eyes," she told him slowly. "The only way to feel what you feel and to be where you are is to BE you. Feel your hate, carry out your rage, and then… and then… understand."

"Then it was not pointless," he pointed out, and with sudden serenity, she smiled at him.

"No, it wasn't. Not at all."

X-X-X


	10. Chapter 10

The early morning sun streamed in through the windows at the other side of the living room, warming the slight chill of the air conditioning and casting golden light across the delicate planes of Farfarello's face. He was sprawled across the couch on his stomach, one arm curled around the small pillow and holding it under his head, the other dangling, the backs of his fingers brushing the floor. A light knit blanket was draped over his hips, and thick scars criss-crossed his muscled back.

Sabbath held a bowl of cocoa puffs close to her chin and wolfed them down hungrily. She had never mastered graceful or genteel eating, though she always managed not to spit food at anyone or make grotesque noises. In short, she ate like a boy, with earnest speed and narrow focus. Her tongue caught drops of milk, turned dark by the chocolate balls, before they could fall on the floor or her hoody. Not that she particularly cared; tile was easy to wipe clean, after all, and the entire point of this particular sweatshirt was that it could get stained with absolutely anything at all and she would not try to prevent it.

Oddly enough, she spilled less on this sweatshirt than on the ones she DID care about keeping clean. But that was the law of the universe.

She watched Farfarello sleep, having stirred to consciousness just ten minutes prior, head and arms in his lap, the way she'd fallen asleep. Sometime during the night, he'd used her body as a pillow, and now that she was out from under, he was stretched out across the length of the couch.

After lengthy deliberation, she had decided that Farfarello was not insane and neither was she. Non-linear, certainly, but how did one define madness? There were so many afflictions and so many causes that it seemed a difficult thing at best to pin any one of them down. And in order to declare a mind deviant, a standard needed to be established; but every human being was different, so how could such a standard be determined? Farf was less sane than she was but more sane than Jeffrey Dahmer? She was more sane than Farf was but less sane than most of her high school classmates? But they were just as fucked up as she was in their own ways. How did a fascination with her shadow self make her somehow more fucked up? She had done nothing to them to deserve their scorn. They had ostracized her because she was different. Of course, at one point, she had snapped and started fighting back, but before then… before junior high, before she found her backbone, she had kept quietly to herself, sequestered with her vampire books in the back of the room.

Psychosis – the loss of the ability to tell the difference between fantasy and reality.

Insanity – when one's mental state affects one's work and one's relationships.

Her psychosis hadn't hurt anyone. Their thoughtless teasing, their callous disregard for her feelings, had hurt her deeply. Who was insane here, who was wrong in the head?

An ye harm none….

And nobody ever seemed to understand that they didn't have to hurt each other. They could live and let live, and if they didn't like her, they could keep her at arms length. But they did not have to seek her out. They did not have to make up names, songs, and sordid jokes. Children were cruel, and it was said that the true determiner of the character of any race was the behavior of its children. They could IGNORE her but they had refused and when she had fought back, she had gone from being a freak to being a freaky bitch. It wasn't fair, but such was life.

No, life was fair. It was people who weren't fair.

"And I still don't know what happened to you," she said, shaking her head as she let the bowl lower, the cocoa puffs having been ravenously consumed. A few drops of milk were left in the bottom of the bowl, dark against the off-white ceramics. "But people did it. People always do it. So what did they do to you, that made you this?"

Pain made itself known in her chest and Sabbath shook her head wryly. Every once in a while, she had what she called a 'hero' moment, when she felt acutely the weight of the sufferings of the world and wanted nothing more than to heal it, to fix things. So much was wrong. There was SO much pain. Centuries, millennia, billions of years of built-up angst. It was times like this, when she felt so much like crying and hugging everyone who crossed her path, that she felt incredibly close to Gaia. The earth-mother and the creator, the womb of all life, Gaia was a loving mother who's flesh was scarred as humans cut trees and spilled oil into the oceans. As her children hurt themselves, they hurt her, but she didn't rage or hate. Instead, she cried and reached out to them and wanted only to make everything right again.

Sabbath pressed a hand to her chest. The piercing ache just wouldn't go away.

It had all started with the first Discontent, she knew. Whether it was Adam and Eve in the garden or humanity rising from apes didn't matter. Somewhere along the line, humanity had gained the ability to realize that they were not whole, and they had become discontent. And so they had reached for the stars and dug into the earth and begun to pull themselves up from the mire of innocence. And Pride had followed soon after, convincing these humans that they did not need to respect the earth, that they were the masters, the dominant race.

Her connection to the earth was intimate and all-pervading. For dust we are and to dust we will return. And she felt caught up in it now, wondering if healing was even possible, or if the long road of redemption was worth attempting. Could she heal? She hadn't yet, though at times she forgot her pain and her rage. And what about someone broken so deeply and so cleanly as, say, Farfarello? Could he find peace? Should she even try to take him there? The perfect trust of a child was a terrible thing to betray, but the lesson it had taught him had been duly learned. And what of those who had wounded him? He hadn't told her, so she didn't even know.

Some said that people looked innocent when asleep, as if the cares of the world were lifted from their faces, making them younger and happier. Farfarello just looked inexplicably, incredibly beautiful, but his pain was too deeply ingrained. Even if the years did vanish from his face, Sabbath mused, the scars did not.

"You know, if you're going to harbor sugary thoughts about our resident psychopathic serial killer, you could have the decency to keep them to yourself," Schuldich muttered as he appeared at the other side of the living room, in a t-shirt and sweatpants, hair unbound and riotous. The sunlight caught it and set it on fire, making him a shining devil almost painful to look directly at.

Sabbath shook her head. "All right then. Teach me how to shield."

Schu paused and eyed her. "I'm sorry, what?"

She gave him an annoyed look. "If it's such an irritation to you to have to listen to me all the time, and if for some reason, you just can't be bothered to put up shields against ME, teach me to shield myself. Then you won't hear my thoughts, and … well, you won't hear my thoughts, so we'll both get what we want."

He snickered and moved past her into the kitchen, stopping for just a moment to cast an admiring eye at Farfarello's lithely muscled form. "Do I look like a kindergarten teacher?" he inquired silkily. "By the way, how was YOUR night? Have fun desecrating the couch? I'm impressed… you don't even look ruffled. And I can certainly attest to Farf's stamina." He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer, opening it with a twist of his fingers.

Sabbath rolled her eyes. "Reign in that mind of yours, Schu, before you lose it. You and I both know that a chaste time was had by all."

"Mmmm…." Schuldich smirked and leaned against the fridge, taking a sip of his beer and watching her through heavy lashes. "Then what were you up too, witchlaran? A bit of blood on the shower floor this morning."

"I'm sure you'll read about it in the papers," Sabbath said, shrugging boredly. "In any case, if you want a play-by-play, you can take it from my memories because I don't feel like talking you through it."

He snorted. "Now there's something I don't see every day… someone who's willing to let me dive into their thoughts. Who knows what I'll find when I'm in there. Are you sure you want to tempt me?" His smile was quicksilver and she returned it.

"There's nothing in there I haven't already seen," she told him matter-of-factly. "Maybe you're the one afraid of what demons you might uncover if you dig a little too deep." She turned to face him, setting her bowl down on the counter and for an instant stepping into him, hip to waist. "I'm on good terms with my demons, Schu, but you never know. They might eat YOU alive."

He snickered and leaned closer, tilting his head as though he might kiss her. She continued to smirk up at him, eyes dark, not at all cowed. "Your pathetic spooks are nothing to me," he purred. "I have been inside the bowels of ESZET. I have suffered torture that would snap your mind in two. For years I heard the voice of every creature within a ten mile radius in my head. What do you think you have that's so dark, and so painful, it could beat that? And I'm not afraid to dive into your thoughts, liebchen. You might be loud and annoying, but there's always something going on in there." A slender finger tapped Sabbath's forehead between her eyebrows. "And you're a lot less inane than most people."

"In other words, I'm interesting." She smirked. "Well, that makes two of us. And honestly, Schu, I don't care if you fuck around in my mind. But quit trying to turn my own mind against me. We're very close, my pain and I, and you're not going to turn us against each other. It's been us against the world for a very long time… something I'm sure you can understand."

He chuckled, breath brushing wisps of dark hair back from her pale, but olive-hinted skin. "Of course I understand. But what does it matter? You're close to the beast inside you… that just makes you more of a challenge. The every-day man is a pushover, my dear. But you... you are several years of entertainment." He raised his eyes and they glinted slyly. "Who knows? Maybe you'll become something like Farf, when you finally devour yourself from the inside."

"That doesn't scare me. But then again… I could always end up like you. A puppet-master just as hollow as his puppets." She slipped to the side, away from him, breaking the near-embrace. "And I wouldn't plan on years of entertainment just yet, Schu."

Schuldich rolled his eyes, then narrowed them suddenly as he caught a flash of some jagged thought from her. Turning slightly, he sent in a mental probe, digging deeper, brushing aside random other thoughts as he followed it all the way back to her subconscious where she'd been hiding it.

Thus, the connection was wide open when she pulled back and, once again, SHRIEKED into his mind.

Letting out a yelp, Schu clapped his hands over his ears and flung up shields, but then the shriek ended. He glared at her, but he'd lost the thread, and the thought was lost in waves of wry triumph from Sabbath.

"And here I thought you didn't care if I poked around in your head," he murmured, collecting himself. "So the pretty little black kitten has a weakness after all…."

She shook her head and left the kitchen, retreating to her bedroom to do whatever witches did.

Schuldich watched her with narrowed eyes. He had tasted something forbidden and now he was hungry. And she'd dropped him a hint, intentionally. Which meant she wanted him to find out sooner or later.

I wouldn't plan on years of entertainment just yet.

Shaking his head, he sighed and effected a put-upon air as he collapsed into one of the armchairs and crossed one long leg over the other, brushing strands of flame-like hair back from his face. "Ne, Farf, you have the oddest taste in lovers."

"I've slept with you," Farfarello pointed out, single golden eye opening to burn into Schuldich, though he didn't move a muscle.

Schuldich grinned. "I know. And quite the experience it's been, too. Honestly, though, I have a hard time understanding what you see in that girl. She's sweet honey to a telepath, but you're not that."

Farfarello yawned, cat-like, and rolled onto his back. "She never stops working," he said, "up here." A single finger tapped his own forehead, where Schu had tapped Sabbath's. "She reminds me of you."

"Don't insult me," Schuldich sneered. "I am a thousand times more interesting AND more wicked than that girl. She's not even a Psion. She's a… a non-psi. Her mind is unbelievably cluttered and there's no order at all." He let out a short chuckle. "Come to think of it, she reminds ME of YOU."

Farfarello smirked. "But you like me."

"Because you keep your thoughts to yourself and you don't talk HALF so much as she does," Schu pointed out. "Maybe if she'd learn to shut up, I'd like her better."

"Or maybe you just have no respect for women, since so many of them so willingly degrade themselves for a few minutes of pleasure at your hands," Farfarello proposed.

Schuldich sat up. "Don't mistake me," he said quietly, dangerously. "If I wanted her, I could give her mind one little twist and she'd bend over. She's no different from the rest of them."

"She is," Farfarello disagreed. "And you'd have to shatter her to do it. She wouldn't give in, not like the others. She isn't a weak mind."

"What DO you see in her anyway?" he demanded, irritated. "Don't tell me she's interesting. I know that, but I don't want to fuck her." He paused and thought about that. "Well actually… she is cute. But her personality is a definite turn-off."

Farfarello snickered. "You'd fuck her in a heartbeat, Schu, if she let you. It's always a contest between the two of you and if you thought you could establish dominance in bed, you'd try it. As for what I see in her… she looks, she listens, and she understands. She doesn't hide from what she sees even if it's grotesque. She doesn't pass judgment on others' worth. She is not shallow. And most of all, everything she is and everything she does is entirely and essentially TRUE. She knows herself." That single golden eye flicked toward the sunlit windows. "Even you don't entirely know yourself, Schuldich. You lose yourself in others and then the boundaries start to blur. You are layers and layers of complexity without a stable core. She has a core. I have seen it where it sits, deep inside her, and the maelstrom that is her thoughts and emotions just orbits it. Sabbath is a typhoon built upon a rock."

"A core of sanity, is that what you're saying?" Schuldich demanded, lighting a cigarette and dragging deeply on it as he too looked toward the window. "You'll drag her down with you. You know that, don't you?"

Farfarello shrugged. "I don't intend to use her as a life raft and I don't intend to cling to her as some sort of 'last vestige of sanity'. But I have had enough lies over the years. It is nice to have some truth." He tilted his head back thoughtfully. "You said thoughts taste like honey. So does she."

"I hate honey," Schuldich pointed out, and Farfarello smirked. 

"I know you do. But that doesn't make its sweetness any less addictive."

There was the creaking of an opening door and Brad Crawford stepped into the living room, already dressed (in jeans and an untucked dress shirt, which cause Schuldich's jaw to drop), clean shaven, and smug-looking. He had a small duffle bag over one shoulder and ignored the both of them, heading straight for the coffeepot.

"Well, chain me up and fuck me with a cucumber," Schuldich said to his back. "I didn't realize you had 'casual day', Brad." He noted the duffle bag and smirked, stretching out in the chair and taking another swig of his beer. "Going somewhere?"

As the machine began to gurgle, Crawford turned and leaned back against the counter, folding his arms across his chest and smirking quietly at Schuldich. "Actually, it's come to my attention that my swordplay has grown rusty. I thought a little practice might be in order. If you need me, for some reason, I will have my cell phone with me. But do me the courtesy of not disturbing me unless it's Takatori, or something else important."

"Came to your attention, eh?" Schu mimicked, teeth flashing. "How does something like that 'come to your attention', Brad? Don't tell me you got your ass kicked by a college student."

Crawford didn't answer that, choosing instead to walk to the front door, open it, and pick up the newspaper lying just outside. Farf watched him languidly, then sat up abruptly.

Schuldich laughed. "Uh-oh, Farfie, did you and the little koneko get yourselves into trouble?"

Crawford eyed them both as he swung the door shut and pulled the paper from its plastic sleeve. "I thought I told you to be on you best behavior."

Farfarello shrugged. "Only two murders in the ten days we've been here IS me on my best behavior."

Hiking an eyebrow, Crawford slowly unrolled the paper and scanned the front page, then opened it and looked through the next few sections. "Well, well. Should I commend you on your discretion?"

"Nah, it's only the morning paper," Sabbath told him as she emerged. "They probably missed the first copy." She shot Farfarello a grin, which he returned. "Oy, Farf, since you're my official bodyguard, get a shirt on or something. I've got to go out and see some people." She had changed clothes, and was now clad worn jeans and a black halter top that tied together behind her back. A set of sunglasses was hooked into her top, in the crease of her breasts. She had her purse over her shoulder and looked more than ready to go out somewhere.

Crawford gave her a look of genteel curiosity. "Might I ask what's so urgent?"

"If we're going to organize any sort of joint effort between the Inconnu cells and Schwarz, I'm going to have to get the cooperation of all the local cell leaders. The call went out several days ago and I just got word that Raven's Gleaning is in town. They're the last ones in, so I need to see them and set up a meeting with you so you can convince them Eszet isn't going to royally fuck us over." She smirked at Crawford. "Which, I know, doesn't necessarily mean that Eszet WON'T fuck us over… but you still need to convince them either way. They're liable to think I'm a sell-out anyway, at least, I know Ice and Jake will. Rel might be a little more understanding, but then again, Rel isn't afraid of Eszet." She stepped aside as Farfarello passed by her, headed for his room.

Crawford nodded. "Good. Since Schu will be accompanying Takatori for the time being…"

Schuldich made a face.

"… My schedule is mostly open. I'm going out myself, but I'll have my cell phone with me. Farfarello knows the number. Please call me if and when you work something out."

"Yep," she agreed readily. "Don't party too hard."

He glanced heavenward, biting back a smile of wry amusement, nodded politely to her, and stepped out of the apartment, the door latching quietly behind him.

"Well, I might have underestimated your intelligence," Schuldich admitted gallantly as Sabbath waited for Farfarello to reappear. "At least you understand that no matter what they promised, Eszet WILL fuck you over."

Her smile was tight, and he was instantly on alert, scanning her thoughts closely. He thought he caught a flicker of something and quickly set about following it.

"I know they will. But we Inconnu have survived Eszet before, we'll survive them again."

Even if I don't.

Schu blinked as he found that thought, held it up, and tried to examine its angles, but Sabbath seemed to know he was poking around in her head and she quickly set up a cacophony of noise to distract him. It wouldn't have worked, except that she threw a picture at him of Brad Crawford on the receiving end of a biker gang's amorous attentions, and as he was trying to brush it aside while simultaneously laughing his ass off at the thought, Farfarello emerged and Sabbath's mental stream abruptly shut down and took up a new train.

"Let's go," she said quickly, and bolted out the door. Farfarello blinked and fell in step behind her.

Schuldich watched the door close and sat, pondering. He was getting brief flashes from Sabbath now, and he was certain they were intentional. She dangled a secret in front of him and yanked it back when he bit. And when he chased it, she set up interference. Was she just fucking with him? No… something was weighing heavily on her mind. She saw something dark in her own future, something that had to do with The One and with Eszet. And dropping hints to Schuldich was… was…

A cry for help.

"Hey, did everyone else already leave?"

It was Nagi, emerging from his bedroom dressed but rumpled after having spent all night on his computer again. His eyes were slightly red, and Schu was willing to bet the youth would go blind before his fiftieth birthday.

"Ja," he murmured absently, waving a hand. "Brad went to shadow-fence and Sabbath took Farfarello with her to meet the family. Since they're so CLOSE now." He grinned at the look of mild consternation on Nagi's face.

As Nagi went to fix himself a bowl of cereal, Schuldich continued to think. Why drop hints to HIM, of all people? Wouldn't Farfarello be the likely choice? The madman was already fond of her. No, more than fond. During their talk this morning, Schu had detected something even deeper than affection beginning to saturate his thoughts. Schu was rather certain that Farfarello would take offense if someone decided to hurt Sabbath now, though both of them were fiercely independent. So why not enlist him?

Perhaps she wasn't able to talk about it, which was why she was making Schuldich chase it into her mind. She wanted to him to FIND OUT… if she'd wanted to tell someone, he realized, she would have just done it. She didn't mince words. She was trying to let him know indirectly, passively.

Something very weird was going on here. He was the only telepath, so it made sense that he was the only one who could riffle through her thoughts, but why would she even consider trying to get his aid, even in such a roundabout fashion? Surely she didn't think that, even if something WAS wrong, he'd offer his assistance?

He shook the thoughts out of his head and concentrated on his alcoholic breakfast. If something was wrong with Sabbath, she'd keep playing this little mental game and he'd continue to pursue whatever she was keeping out of his reach. And when he knew what was going on, THEN he would decide whether it was worth his time or not.

Leaning back and stretching out, Schuldich eyed the coffee table and smirked.

"Hey Nagi, up for a game of checkers?"

X-X-X

Cross reclined comfortably in his seat at a little outdoor café in Greenwich, the awning behind him along with a set of expensive sunglasses shading him from the worst of the sun. It had turned into an oppressively muggy day with only hints of breezy relief, and sunset-red hair stuck to the back of his neck as a drop of sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades. He wore a very light white t-shirt and loose jeans, with sandals, but even in such light clothing he was sweltering. The tall glass of iced tea he was nursing only mildly helped.

Calan, in khaki shorts and a similarly colored Year of the Dragon t-shirt, pulled out the opposite metal chair with a scrape and sat down. Cross broke into a grin as Calan smirked, pulling his tarot deck from his pocket and shuffling it over the wrought-iron table.

"So," Cross began nonchalantly, "how'd it go with Crawford?"

Calan nodded thoughtfully. "Pretty well. He's formidable." He spread the cars out in a smooth arch and then swept them back up again to shuffle some more.

"How formidable?" Cross flagged down a waitress and prodded Calan to order a lemonade.

Calan smirked. "Well, he lost all three matches, but the third one was almost a tie, and he never lost by much. Best opponent I've had in… well, best opponent I've had since the last time I sparred with you."

"I'm sure you were in upper-class snob heaven," Cross chuckled. "How'd you manage to score on him, though?"

"Being precognitive doesn't automatically make you fast enough to react to what you see," Calan said absently, thumbing a card free from the deck and setting it down. "I was faster and that's all there is to it. So how did you do with the telepath? No, don't tell me…" He flipped the card over and smirked, plucking it off the table and flashing it at Cross. "The Magician… you sweet-talked your way into his bed, didn't you?"

Cross flushed slightly and grinned at his shoes.

Calan shook his head and sighed dramatically. "Why am I NOT surprised?" Reshuffling his deck, he watched Cross with teasing amusement.

"Yeah, well, I could have told you that," the redhead said cheerfully, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table. "Why don't you try something useful? Like doing a reading on our immediate future?" His tone turned serious.

Calan shook his head. "Already done, but I can't make heads or tails of the results. And since you know next to nothing about tarot, I somehow doubt you're going to be much help."

Cross looked affronted. "Hey. I'm not an idiot. Tell me what you got and then at least there will be two of us thinking it over."

Calan shrugged and spread the deck again, laying a card on the table. He shuffled for a moment, picked out another card, and placed it above that card. Repeating this process, he soon had an equal-armed cross laid out on the table containing five cards. He flipped the right-hand one over. "This is the card that stands for the future. Two of Swords… it stands for conflict in which you can't win, you can only balance between the two forces. It means compromise, in essence. I understand that, because I've been considering compromising with Schwarz… and I KNOW you are."

Cross shrugged. "I choose not to judge as Kritiker judges. Schuldich is a devil, no doubt about that, but does he do anything worse than what we do? And personally, he doesn't strike me as Eszet canon anymore than we're common Kritiker stock."

"Precisely," Calan said, nodding and flipping over the middle card. "This one's the present. It can represent either us or the situation in which we currently find ourselves. Last time I turned it, it was the seven of cups, which indicated that we had a choice in front of us we'd rather not make. Now…" he tapped the card. "It's the Hermit. Which I think represents us, symbolizing that without Kritiker's knowledge or approval, we've decided to make our choices based on our own wisdom, retreating from the rest of the world to do what we believe is right."

Cross nodded, eyeing the cards as Calan flipped them. "So. Is there a way to get a clearer reading on the future?"

Calan shrugged. "Let's explore the rest of this first. Forces acting in opposition to us." He flipped the card closest to Cross. "This is The Moon, reversed… the same card I drew the last time, along with the Two of Swords. It stands for secrets, lies, and subtle darkness as well as mystery. A certain primal regression is symbolized by the wolves," he said, pointing to the gray animals painted on the card. "It means there's a LOT about this situation we don't know, and we're wandering blindly into the middle of a situation we don't understand."

Cross's brow furrowed. "Seems straightforward to me."

"Then who is the girl?" Calan asked pointedly. "And why is she with them?"

Cross hiked an eyebrow, then nodded gravely, accepting Calan's interpretation.

"So. Forces working for us: Strength." He smirked. "This is actually the other card, along with the Magician, that reminds me of you. It stands for strength of will rather than strength of body. The image is of a maiden gently shutting a lion's mouth, and indicates that it will be through dogged and GENTLE persistence that we have a chance of a favorable outcome."

"So no killing," Cross said with a grin, and Calan nodded.

"No killing." He shuffled the deck again as he lifted an eye to Cross. "I won't bother turning over the Past card, since we know what's behind us already. But here's a card for the far future, and hopefully the eventual outcome." He fingered the cards and then slapped one down, flipping it over and going still, except for his fingers. They found the gilt edge of the card and flipped it upward, so Cross could see.

"Okay," Cross said quietly. "I might not know much about Tarot, but even I know that The Tower is a very bad thing."

"Wait," Calan said, holding up a finger even as he shuffled his deck one-handedly. He pulled one final card and laid it down, and they both looked at it. "The Chariot."

"So." Cross said quietly. "Explain it to me."

"Something is going to go wrong. Some flash of truth… see the lightening striking the tower?... is going to bring our preconceptions crashing down and engage us in a terrible struggle. What was built will become rubble and there will be loss, but for us… for us PERSONALLY, and remember, the Two of Swords indicated balance between at least two forces, there will be eventual, hard-won victory or peace."

"Well, that's good to know," Cross said, "but it brings up more questions than it answers."

Calan shrugged and swept his cards up. "I know. That's almost always the case in divination. But we'll need to find those answers for ourselves, which means some further investigating is in order."

Cross nodded quietly. "I'll see what I can do, but it's harder than you think, purposefully NOT thinking about certain things. Even though I'm good at it. It's like trying to not think of a pink elephant…"

"I suppose I could come out and ASK Crawford," Calan mused. "But that man's a plotter. I'd never be reassured that he was being entirely straightforward with me."

Cross snorted. "Look, Cal, if Crawford is a plotter, Schuldich is the devil. The man's been abused to the point where he has absolutely no regard for others. Every living being around him is a tool for him to use. I don't know that I CAN get him to be honest, at least, not without revealing myself."

Calan shrugged. "Lies, secrets, and mysteries. But gentleness, combined with strength of will, will shut the lion's mouth. Pardon me for saying so, but if there's anyone alive who could smooth this situation over… it's a certain unfailingly gentle, silver-tongued redhead."

Cross sighed. "All right, all right, I'll see what I can do. But I'm not making any promises."

"I don't expect any."

They smiled wryly at each other, and then Calan stood. He always seemed to have somewhere to be, and now was no exception, and he saluted Cross as he turned away.

"I'll see you."

Cross nodded. "Yeah, see you at the guillotine."

Calan paused in mid-step, considering. "No, it's really more of a crucible," he said sagely.

"One cuts, the other burns," Cross shot back. "They both hurt."

"True. But the difference is in what follows the pain." He vanished in the light crowd, leaving Cross to finish his tea and lay down a five dollar bill.

"Except that I'm not afraid of death," he mused, "and not interested in perfection."

Oh well. It would be interesting, at least, to see what they'd managed to get themselves into this time. In any case, he needed to get his things together.

It was time to track down Schuldich.

X-X-X


	11. Chapter 11

Cross quickly found the extended-stay building Schwarz had moved into. He had yet to see the 'girl' Calan had spoken of, though he certainly knew that there was a young woman in Schwarz's dubious care. There would be time to feel her out a little later. For now, he was interested in the Schwarz redhead. Following Schu without his familiar mental signature being detected would be a tricky thing, but he was fairly certain he'd be able to manage it if he could force himself to think constantly about petty things, inconsequential things, boring and every-day things.

Dammit, how in HELL did he think he was going to fool such a powerful telepath?

Shaking his head in chagrin, Cross quieted his thoughts and found a spot across the street from which to watch the building. Purchasing a newspaper from a street vendor, he immersed himself in a rather shocking story involving a recent double-homicide.

He waited for about an hour and a half, and was entirely prepared to wait all day, but then a black car with illegally tinted windows prowled up to the curb. Shortly, Schuldich stepped outside dressed in a white business suit. As usual, a bandana held back his unruly hair and a pair of sunglasses perched over it, giving the outfit Schu's devilish flare. Keeping his thoughts firmly on the newspaper, Cross moved to a crosswalk and quickly crossed the street. As the car pulled away from the curb, he quickly jotted down the license plate number, make, and model. Slipping the handy notepad back into his jeans pocket, he retreated into a slight alcove formed by the join of two buildings and quickly emptied his wallet of everything except for a few dollars, a couple of receipts, and a blank library card. Checking it twice to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he shoved the contents into his pockets and emerged, moving up to the front doors of the building and stepping inside.

The carpet was plush and rose-colored and the surroundings positively reeked of class. Cross found himself mildly impressed and he wandered up to the security desk, offering the guard a guileless smile.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Cross nodded. "There was a man who just left here, a redhead in a white suit. He dropped this, but he drove away before I could get his attention. Does he live in this building?"

The guard nodded. "If you'd like, I can put that in his mailbox for you," he offered politely.

Cross glanced up. There was a wall of mailboxes right behind the guard. "Yeah, sure, that's fine," he said with a grin, sliding the wallet across the counter.

The guard took it and walked over to one of the mailboxes. The numbers were small and brass plated, and Cross squinted to spot the number on the box he placed the wallet in.

Box 212.

"Thanks," Cross tossed at the guard as he quickly turned and made his way back out of the building, so the guard wouldn't catch him peeking. He barely heard the absent reply.

Well, Schuldich had gone out, but now Cross was fairly certain he knew which apartment the redhead lived in. So that was something. He jotted that down on his notepad as well, smirking as he slid the pad back into his pocket. Collecting information made him at least feel like he was doing something useful. He couldn't follow Schuldich at the moment without his bike, but next time he'd have it ready. He'd go track down the license plate number and set up some surveillance on apartment 212, and hopefully be back in time to catch Schu if he went out clubbing.

And set up another meeting.

X-X-X

Farfarello really had no choice but to be impressed. Sabbath had returned to Ebon Cell HQ and sent out messengers and within an hour, they were headed toward Soho to have a meeting with the leaders of the other Inconnu cells. Now they sat in a crowded Vietnamese restaurant at a semi-private table. Farfarello estimated that at least one person at every other table had a gun under his or her clothing. This was a place where illicit deals were made and fleshed out. But most of those meeting here were of similar race and age. The Inconnu, in contrast, stood out as clearly the most exotic group in the place. The only thing they had in common was that they were all, oddly enough, Caucasian, which was also the thing that singularly set them apart from everyone ELSE in the place.

As they found their seats, Sabbath introduced him around the table, naming each Cell Leader:

Ice, the leader of Isa Cell, with shocking white hair and startlingly clear blue eyes, a wryly amused smile gracing his handsome features, his sneakered feet propped on the table, his chair leaned back on two legs, his back strategically placed against the wall.

Jake, Auspex Cell's leader, with roughly attractive features, a golden nose ring, dark hair that looked utterly unbrushed, and dark blue eyes. He was watching Farfarello with blatant suspicion, and his tattered denim jacket rasped as he folded his arms across his chest.

Rel, the painfully energetic leader of the Raven's Gleaning Cell. She had long, honey-brown hair, light brown eyes, and a ready grin that was at once cocky, childlike, and slightly mad.

And finally, Ariadne, with tumbling red curls and dark grey eyes, her lovely face enhanced by artistically drawn scars that began with a maze pattern on her forehead and cut straight down the center of her face, down her throat, making the movement of her lips a fascinating thing. Leader of Midnight Cell.

Plus Farfarello, representative of Schwarz, and Sabbath, leader (?) of Ebon Cell. They were assembled.

"So," Rel said, fingers tapping languidly on the table top as she smirked at Sabbath. "Let's hear it, Sabbath-chan. You said you had back-up for us, and that we'd be able to go up against The One directly."

Sabbath nodded. "To say we've found an unlikely ally would be something of an understatement. There's a group of Affiliated Psis that's agreed to give us a helping hand. They're powerful and well-trained, and would be just the edge we need against The Collective."

"But they're Affiliated," Jake pointed out. "Who are they Affiliated with, and what's in this for them?"

Farf watched as Sabbath hung for a moment in indecision, then decided to bite the bullet. "They're called Schwarz, and they're with Eszet."

Though he half expected them to explode, as Griss had upon Sabbath's announcement, there was no such emotional display. Ice's smile turned to a grin, Jake's eyes narrowed, Rel hiked an eyebrow, and Ariadne looked quietly rebellious.

"Then I ask again. What does Eszet get out of this?" Jake demanded quietly. He had one of those voices that, while quiet, was irresistibly compelling and made you want to shut up and listen.

"Trust me when I say that the price has already been set and they're getting exactly what they want," Sabbath told him. "I'm not at leave to discuss the terms of the agreement, but according to it, none of you are in danger. Once this is over, Eszet will supposedly leave you alone."

"Supposedly," Rel chimed in. "Why do I get the idea we aren't counting on Eszet to keep its word?"

"Because we aren't?" Ice said sarcastically. "Eszet has NEVER been known for its honesty."

"Then why should we make this deal at all?" Jake demanded. "If we already know they're going to stab us in the back." He fixed a dryly superior gaze on Farf.

Farfarello shrugged. "I don't know what Eszet has planned any more than you do. But we've been given clearance to help you destroy the Collective, so that is what Schwarz will do."

Sabbath nodded. "We have no reason to trust Eszet, but for now, we can be confident that at least until The One, and the threat it ultimately poses to Eszet, is destroyed, we are safe. Afterward… who knows what may happen? But we'll be ready for it, whatever it is."

"Is it safe to discuss contingency plans in front of the Eszet flunky?" Rel inquired, shooting Farf a wide smile. "No offense."

Farf played idly with knife. "I am not an Eszet flunky. I am Schwarz."

Sabbath rolled her eyes. "THIS, ladies and gentlemen, is Farfarello. He is actually not a psi, except that I suspect he might be a weak biopath."

"Then what is he?" Ariadne asked finally, eyeing the knife as Farf's tongue ran along it.

Ice laughed. "You're still new to all this, Ari. Our Farfarello here is a killer, plain and simple. He takes damage and makes things bleed. Deal out enough death yourself and you come to know the look."

Ariadne scowled, not liking being put in her place, and Ice laid a finger on the glass of water next to him. With a snap and a crackle, the water froze solid, and Ice tipped the glass over, shunting the cylinder into his hand. Pulling out a pocket knife, he scratched at one of the edges. "So. Eszet's willing to lend us a few soldiers in the interest of protecting their own hide. Makes perfect sense to me, knowing Eszet. But I find it hard to believe that even a set price wouldn't effect us in some way." His eyes pinned Sabbath down and she met them coolly. "What are you giving them, Sabbath?"

"Nothing of yours, that's for certain," she said dryly. "And I already told you, it's none of your business. I'm seeing to the arrangements and trust me, the contract was gone over with a fine-toothed comb. As it turned out, their desires were very simple, and I sincerely doubt YOU'D much mourn the loss."

"But even as you say that," Ice countered, "it makes me think that I WILL mourn the loss. Whatever they've requested might seem simple, but I'll guarantee that it isn't. Eszet is made up of devils, those three old fools…" he fell silent, frost eyebrows drawn together as he whittled away at the cylinder.

Farfarello's tongue stilled on the knife. This Inconnu knew about the Elders?

"I trust Sabbath's judgment," Rel said, "and more than that, I trust her sense of martyrdom. If she's already sacrificed so we don't have to, I won't worry about it anymore. Contingency plans are a good idea of course, because Eszet WILL turn on us, but in terms of the contract, at least, I'll let this rest. For now, we have bigger concerns; namely, finding The One and destroying them utterly."

"Agreed," Jake said, though he sounded reluctant to let the matter rest. "Auxiliary is all well and good, but we have to find The Collective before we can stamp them out and their numbers are still growing. We've seen probes, tentative forays, collectors, but no warriors. I know they've absorbed a few potent psions. We've barely scratched the surface of what they'll bring to bear against us if we attack head-on."

"Well, there's one thing I can guarantee we have that they don't," Sabbath said with a smirk, and both Rel and Ice returned it.

"I've got no problem leading Raven's Gleaning into battle," Rel said casually. "Hell, I've got no problem being at the head of the charge. And with me AND Ice AND Jake, we'd do decently even we were outnumbered ten to one. But what about the human authorities? No building, or block, is an island. If we start throwing world-shattering psychic power around, people are going to sit up and take notice. We'd have to take out the Collective in one hard, fast strike and then fade away. Which means we'd have to destroy The Core." Slim, strong fingers wound a strand of honey-hair around them. "And I don't think I can manage that. The Core is nothing but a prism for psychic power. The more I focus at it, the more power it will gain. In theory."

Sabbath nodded. "I have a plan to destroy The Core, and I'll be the one to sneak in and destroy it while the rest of you engage The Collective. If I can overload and dissolve the weave it's set up, I can destroy The Core and maybe if we're lucky, the feedback will take The Collective out with it. And if it does, the rest of you will have a disorganized bunch of drones to pick off at your leisure."

"And what's your plan?" Ice inquired, snowy scrapings of frozen water falling with soft sounds to the tabletop and melting. Farfarello noticed, suddenly, that the piece of ice was not melting in his hands.

Sabbath smirked. "I call it Operation: Pandora's Box."

Farf's attention snapped back to her as he chewed at the end of his knife. Warmth trickled down his chin and he realized Ariadne was staring at him in disgusted shock as blood dripped to the table. He smiled blackly at her and she looked away.

"The long and short of it is this: The Core can absorb and distribute psychic power. We know that, because that's its FUNCTION. But magickal power is a different case entirely. While Psionics and magick are related and often compatible, they are fundamentally different and thus I hope to bring about an attack against which The One has no defense."

"Way to steal the show," Ice murmured.

Sabbath rolled her eyes at him. "And take the biggest risk. I want all of our people to get out of this alive and it's the best plan I've got; collect a massive amount of energy and use it to destroy the hive mind."

"Energy from where?" Jake shook his head. "We can't spare the strength and you're not strong enough, yourself."

"Just let me worry about that," Sabbath told him. "You guys need to focus on finding The One first. Schwarz is researching the plausibility of my plan already; that much is under control. I know we've got a decent spread of telepaths and empaths."

"We can spread out, mix Cells so that the mentalists are better-defended, and do a search of the boroughs," Rel suggested. "I know Damon can handle himself, but if I go with him, The One's got no chance of snatching him. And I can send Mars with Stefan for the same results. So that's two search teams already out of just one cell."

"Can telepaths detect The One?" Jake inquired.

Sabbath nodded. "Fell says it's like a cold, dead void on the edge of his senses. Of course, he was rather enthusiastic about the sensation, but you get the picture. The One is one mind in many bodies. Any telepath should be able to sense that kind of anomaly."

"The boroughs are a lot of ground to cover," Ariadne pointed out. "We need a way to narrow it down."

They exchanged glances among themselves, and then Sabbath sighed.

"I guess I could dowse. I'm not very good at it though," she warned.

"Give us one borough," Rel offered sympathetically. "Jake, you've got some animal empaths, don't you?"

Jake nodded.

"Right. So if Sabbath can get us down to one borough, we can get our telepaths and empaths out, along with rat and pigeon spies, and that makes a whole lot of eyes and ears in a whole lot of places. We'll drag the nets until we find something. Sab, can you manage it?"

Sabbath shook her head. "I'll do my best. That's all I can promise."

"Hell, our best is all any of us can promise," Rel said cheerfully. "Ice, you in?"

Ice smirked back at her. "Of course, my dear. Heaven forbid I pass up the chance for a little excitement in god-only-knows how long. I look forward to comparing tactics and stories of fucking Eszet over…"

Rel snickered.

Sabbath rolled her eyes. "All right. Jake? You willing to risk it?"

Jake smiled. "There's no gain without risk, Sab. Auspex Cell is in."

"Good. Ariadne?"

Ariadne shrugged. "I know my team is in. They're a violent bunch."

Sabbath nodded and Farfarello felt her relief. "Good. We're all agreed then. Let's do the phone number thing and set up our own network. I'll get in contact with all of you as soon as I have the location narrowed down and an amulet made for containing the energy. That'll be at least a day, so start assembling. If you've got guns, I've got a technokinetic who can improve on them, so I'll give him your contact number and we'll see if we can't even out the odds just a little." She sighed. "Also, make some contingency plans in case Eszet betrays us. Keep them to yourselves and tightly under wraps, and whatever you do, don't tell ME about them. Schwarz has a telepath."

There were nods around the table, and Sabbath stood, which Farfarello took as his cue to stand also. "Thanks for coming. I'll be in touch. Good luck and Goddess bless."

"Here," Ice said, and Sabbath paused, turning back toward him. He held out a hand, the piece of ice in it. Sabbath took it from it and examined it, and Farfarello saw that it had been exquisitely carved into a detailed likeness of a woman with long hair, dressed in a flowing gown, both arms outstretched in front of her. She was holding a box, the lid half-open. Her face resembled Sabbath's.

Farfarello blinked.

"Legend has it that when Pandora opened her box, all the demons of hatred, pain, suffering, and sin came flying out to oppress the world. But Pandora shut the box before it could empty itself, trapping one last creature… hope… in the box. So that no matter how bad things get, no matter how terrible, humanity would always have hope hidden away," Ice said melodically, smirking at Sabbath. "But your box is a little different, isn't it? Your box contains all our hope, tightly wrapped and delivered with the force of a neutron bomb. Hope as a weapon. I only hope it works."

Sabbath smiled at him. "You're a compulsive poet, Ice. Thanks."

He nodded and made an 'it was nothing' gesture.

Sabbath and Farfarello left the table and the restaurant, Sabbath examining the little statue that still refused to melt even in her hands.

"I haven't ever seen a power like his," Farfarello observed idly, licking the blood from his lips when he caught a couple passers-by staring.

"He's a cryokinetic," Sabbath explained matter-of-factly. "A… very, very powerful one. He was showing off a little tonight, but you should see him when he's really pissed. Godlike power lavished on a human being… we have a name for those, and it's the same one Eszet uses; Wild Power."

Farfarello nodded. "Eszet will seek to contain one of his power. You know that."

She laughed. "What, that they'll stab us in the back? You underestimate us, Farf. We're not expecting it, we're COUNTING on it. We've survived Eszet in the past and we'll survive them again. Especially with Rel on our side. Her Cell is mobile, but she answered the summons because we're friends… Eszet's been after her for years and all they've gotten for their trouble is corpses. Raven's Gleaning is a small, but powerful cell and they stick close. Very, very close," she amended with a chuckle, "seeing as their four most powerful members are all in bed together. Rel's a Wild Power too… a kineticist. The things she can do…."

"Her mind was fractured."

Sabbath shrugged. "Yeah, true. But so is yours, so is mine, so is Schuldich's. So is Ice's… in fact, I'd venture to say Ice is more insane than you are… and so is Fell's, and I KNOW he's the least sane person I've ever met. They were all children when this came down on them, Farf. Hell, so were you. Of course their minds aren't whole. They've been wounded on the inside and as long as that Power both exalts and eats them, they won't heal. Rel's just a kooky kind of insane, though. Not dangerous unless you manage to really piss her off, and that's hard to do. As you saw, she didn't think twice about allying with Eszet as long as everyone knew the risks involved. She bears them no real ill will even though they killed her family trying to get to her."

He nodded and took this in. The Inconnu were a rag-tag group, motley and diverse, but they had spirit, and he now understood that they had strength, true strength. To boast two Wild Powers… Eszet only had half a dozen, two of which were members of Schwarz. And Farf wasn't sure Eszet even knew Schuldich was a Wild Power; he'd hidden the full extent of his power from them for a very long time. Nagi, of course, they knew about. Nagi was somewhat hard to miss.

"Are there always this many Inconnu in the area?" he inquired curiously. It occurred to him that he shouldn't ask questions, because Schuldich would ferret them from his mind and hand all the information he'd unwittingly gathered to Crawford. But he'd been silent through the meeting and he wanted to talk now.

She shook her head. "No. These five Cells – Ebon, Midnight, Auspex, Isa, and Raven's Gleaning – are all the Inconnu in the entirety of northeastern New York State and New Jersey, and Raven's Gleaning, as I said, is mobile. They travel the world as they choose. Since Inconnu can usually only survive in large cities where the minds of non-psis drown them out, you'd probably have to travel to Boston or Chicago, at least, before finding any more of us. So I guess you could say we're the only Inconnu in the entire North East United States."

"How did you find them?" he asked, and Sabbath chuckled.

"I ran into another psion about the same time as Eszet came after him. Ice's cell pitched in to help out. He ended up joining Isa, while I fell in with a group of un-aligned Inconnu and we eventually named ourselves Ebon. I stayed with them because they were the closest thing I had to people who understood me, but it's still not a perfect fit. They think my ideas about a Goddess are really strange."

"So there are no other Witches among the Inconnu here?"

"There's one. She's with Ice's cell too. I'm sure you'll get to meet her… Catria Dragonwing. She's a real bitch and a great friend. You'd like her, Farf; she's always honest. Brutally so." Sabbath grinned at him teasingly and he smirked back at her.

"Perhaps." He tilted his head back and watched the buildings pass them by. "What does Eszet get in return for Schwarz's aid?"

"You'll have to take that up with Crawford," she told him, shrugging. "I can't discuss it."

His eye narrowed balefully.

Sabbath stopped in her tracks and glared heatedly at him. "Don't even start. At least I was truthful and told you I wasn't ALLOWED to discuss it. Like I said, if you want to know, take it up with Crawford. But I don't think he'll tell you, and you're sure as hell not guilt-tripping it out of me. I'm not risking this agreement."

He considered that for a moment, then brushed her aside and continued down the sidewalk, his stride full of barely leashed savagery.

Sabbath growled and chased after him, quickly catching up and planting herself in his path. Her hand flashed out and the ringing SMACK startled him into stopping more than the actual impact, which he barely felt even though it snapped his head to the side. In a blur of motion, his hand found her throat and he slammed her into the nearest building, causing onlookers to gape and murmur in shock. Someone would call the police in a moment, but he didn't care. "What did you promise?" he hissed. "What did you risk on a lie?"

"I'm NOT… ALLOWED… to DISCUSS it," Sabbath snarled, fingernails digging into his wrists as she struggled and kicked against his grip. "Let me the FUCK down!"

"Eszet will use you. Crawford will use you. If you sold them anything, you sold them your soul. Tell me, WHAT DID YOU PROMISE?"

"Why does it matter?" she hissed, heels scraping against the stone at her back. "Don't tell me you're concerned about me…"

"I have grown to like you," Farfarello told her with dangerously clipped efficiency. "I have decided that you are pleasant and stimulating company. I have decided that you are unique and that you are beautiful and that I will feel loss if you were to suddenly not be here anymore. I want to know what you gave them."

"I'm a big girl, I can take care of MYSELF."

Farfarello's single eye burned cold, and he abruptly let her down, stepping back and away. "Not," he said frostily, "where Eszet is concerned. You are in over your head."

She had slumped against the wall, but now she straightened and rubbed her throat, dark eyes angry. "Then on my head be it," she told him deliberately, petite jaw setting in stubborn resolve.

For a long moment, they stared each other down, and then Farfarello spun on his heel and stalked away.

Sabbath followed, wanting to get away from that area before the police picked them up for domestic violence.

Farfarello stormed ahead, angry without really knowing why he was angry. People parted for him, wanting no part of a tall, scarred, one-eyed man dressed entirely in black leather. Eszet, it seemed, was always there to fuck up something perfect for him. Schwarz would have been downright fun if it hadn't been for those three old prunes, pulling the strings, forcing them to bow their heads and pay deference. Schuldich, Crawford, and Nagi had sold their souls to Eszet in exchange for the 'privilege' of serving, but Farfarello had not been required to. His only function was to kill, but that did not stop the Elders from prying into his thoughts on the only occasion he had ever met them. They looked like gentle aged men and one woman, like grandparents. They had faces you could trust. But their eyes burned with a black and terrible hell, and while he had behaved himself as Crawford had instructed him, he had known on sight that these three were fat old spiders. Their webs entrapped him, and he realized, he hated them enough, and cared about Sabbath enough, that he did not want them to get their fangs in her.

He was musing on that revelation when he heard a choked gasp behind him, roughly following the syllables of his name. He whirled to find Sabbath clutching her chest, face contorted in pain, sinking slowly to the sidewalk. His own heartbeat fluttered and he became slightly light-headed, and realized that whatever was happening to her was also happening to him, but his immunity to pain made him blind to the warning signs.

And to the debilitating side effects. His fingers found the hilt of a knife that he did not draw, yet, and he hooked an arm under Sabbath's, looping it around her chest and pulling her against him. His gaze raked across the sidewalk, the shops, the street the opposite sidewalk, and there he saw him; he was in his late fifties with disheveled white hair and hawk like features, wearing a dress shirt and slacks and watching them with empty eyes.

He wanted to charge across the street and slay the man, but that presented several problems. Sabbath couldn't walk, and he couldn't leave her; there might be reinforcements nearby, ready to snatch her up. He had a gun and could kill the man from here, but they were on a crowded street and someone was bound to see it, and that was exactly the kind of attention he did NOT need. He had no desire to remain locked in his room for the remainder of their stay in America. He could try to get Sabbath out of range, but blood spattered from between her lips even as he thought it, and he realized he might not have enough time. He didn't know what this biokinetic's range WAS, and if there were reinforcements, they could stall him for as long as it took the stubborn witch to die. And she was being stubborn about it, spitting blood but clinging to life and struggling back to her feet.

"Can you run? I can't kill him here," Farfarello told her, glancing both directions down the sidewalk to make sure they had a clear sprint.

"Shield… won't hold long," she ground out. "Let's go."

His fingers wrapped bruisingly tight around her wrist and he took off, fully intending on dragging her every step if he had to. She kept her feet moving and managed to let herself be dragged at his pace, pulled along by his momentum. There were gasps and shouts as they raced through the throng of people, and Sabbath stumbled over and over, but always he jerked her forward and she found her feet and they kept running.

Then she lurched and fell, and he was dragging her dead weight across the sidewalk. "Sabbath," he snapped.

Her eyes were glazed, her pupils dilated. Blood gushed freely from her mouth. So red. Suddenly he realized that she was about to die, she was inches from dying, and he was witnessing her final seconds of life.

"Go. If they kill me… they don't get me…." Her eyes were hard.

"Don't be ridiculous." He looked around and saw no succor, no place to hide. So he scooped her up. She was light, 120lbs at the most, not a difficult burden for a man whose muscles didn't burn with fatigue. He shifted her so he could carry her better and took off again. "Where can we go? Hang on, and talk to me!"

She swallowed and rasped, "Find a bus stop. Find a bus. Get on… we'll get away."

"How much time do we have?" He stopped for traffic, gauged it, and then darted through it, prompting the blaring of a dozen horns.

"I'm not going to die!" she snarled.

Well. So that was that. He had to smile as he dodged a group of tourists with their cameras. She had decided not to die, and just like that, she thought she would hold on. Well, if she could manage it…

"Call for Schuldich," he told her, even as he sent his own mental call spiraling toward the sky. If Sabbath truly did have a scream on her, maybe Schu would hear her even at this distance. It was possible.

Her teeth gritted and he almost heard her scream in his head. He smirked, anticipating how painful it might be to Schu to receive a message at that volume, and added his own summons to the call.

Schuldich, The One is closing on us. Sabbath is badly wounded. Bring the car.

He'd gone almost half a block before Schuldich's voice rang in his head.

Farf? Sabbath? Where are you? I'm in a meeting right now with Takatori….

Through the link Schu had apparently created between all three of them, Farf heard Sabbath's reply. Then contact Crawford, but somebody HAS to come get us. My mirror shield won't hold forever with nothing but my own will keeping it up!

And wouldn't that be a shame, Schu's voice sneered.

Farf sent a wave of black rage down the line, as well as a reminder that they needed Sabbath for the moment.

Yeah, yeah, hold your horses. I've got Brad on the line and he's on his way. Where are you?

Soho, Sabbath sent to him, and Farf felt her mental voice growing weaker, less there. I'll bring him to us.

She sucked in a rattling breath and began to move her lips. He couldn't hear her broken whispers, but her fluttering, slowing heartbeat was loud in his ears, her blood hot against his chest where it pooled where her body was held against his. Then her heart skipped, and skipped again, stuttering as she fought to keep living.

Somewhere far off, he heard police sirens. He found an extra gear of speed. It irked him to have to run from his enemy like this, but with a biokinetic wreaking havoc on Sabbath's internal systems, he had no choice. He couldn't stop to tear the interloper limb from limb because then Sabbath would die. He could only run and keep some distance between them to weaken the man's power.

Sabbath's fingers closed on his vest and tightened as her teeth ground together. A salt-water tear slipped from one of her eyes and slid down her cheek; she had to be in incredible pain.

The sirens got closer and then suddenly a police cruiser pulled in front of Farfarello. He didn't slow, gathering himself and leaping, touching down briefly on the hood of the car before landing on the sidewalk on the other side and turning slightly sidewalks to hit a stack of crates that blocked the sidewalk with his shoulder. They scattered and he stumbled through them. More sirens, ahead and behind and on all sides. He turned down a blind alley, ducking clotheslines and dodging trash bags. The opening was just ahead… but then a police car blocked it. Cursing in Irish, Farfarello whirled and bolted back the other way. He burst out onto the sidewalk just as several cruisers squealed to a halt on his left. He looked right.

The man was there. Standing there, watching them, empty eyes somehow baleful. Feeling his heart pounding hard and suddenly sinking to the ground from exhaustion, Farf set Sabbath down. She was limp.

He stood and reached for a knife even as the police screamed at him to freeze. Traffic was in an uproar. And then he heard from his feet whispered words filled with hatred.

"By the… deadly skirts of…. The Dark Mother… may your karma return… to you…"

Farfarello barely caught what happened then. Another cruiser pulled up, then swerved to miss a man on a bicycle, who careened into the path of a passing truck, which skidded under unresponsive steering, slowly turning over sideways as it went, inexorable, slow motion. The biokinetic stood watching them, face flat. It turned its head to the left calmly, just in time to catch a produce truck in the face. Truck and biokinetic smashed against the side of a building, and though there was no explosion, there was a peculiar wet splat.

Sabbath collapsed onto the pavement, blood spreading slowly from where her cheek was pressed against the ground. Farfarello dropped next to her, calmly and quickly searching for a pulse. It was there, weak, but there. She needed a hospital desperately, but could they risk that? He didn't want to hand her over the police… he found himself gathering up her body and cradling it against his defensively, glaring a challenge at the many, many gun muzzles pointed at him.

"Put the girl down, and BACK AWAY," one of the cops yelled.

Like hell.

And then, suddenly, there was a rumble beneath their feet. The cops glanced at the ground in confusion and Farfarello followed suit, even as a manhole cover nearby began to rattle. A fire hydrant only a couple feet away began to squeal as the metal ballooned outward, and Farfarello hugged Sabbath close to him just as the manhole cover was thrown sky-high and the cap popped off the fire hydrant. There was water, water everywhere, and it was not spraying in all directions as it should have. Instead it flowed together like plasma and formed a solid wall between Farfarello and the cruisers. With a crackle like a collapsing glacier, it hardened to ice, and then he knew who had come to their aid. But how had Isa Cell known they were in trouble?

"That's simple. I told them," a silken, dark voice declared, and Farfarello swiveled to meet Fell's sardonic, self-satisfied black eyes. Ice stood next to him, muscled frame dwarfing the slight telepath, and on Ice's other side was a woman. She had honey-brown hair as well, but her eyes were knowing, wry, and purest violet. She wore jeans and a lilac-colored sweater, and she moved quickly toward them.

"I'm Catria. I'm a healer," she told him efficiently. "Give her to me. Scythe! Let's get out of here!"

Farfarello reluctantly let go of Sabbath's body, eyeing Isa Cell with suspicion as a dark-haired man in a tattered duster stepped out into view and levitated Sabbath's body as easily as Nagi could have done, perhaps more easily. Catria laid her hands on Sabbath and began to chant quietly, and Ice jerked his head in the opposite direction. "Let's get off the street."

They crossed several blocks, taking shortcuts until Farfarello was unequivocally lost. So he was surprised when, when they started to cross a narrow street, Crawford suddenly pulled up in their path and threw the door open. "Get her inside," he ordered, and Farfarello opened the back door, pushing Catria and Sabbath inside before hopping over the hood of the car and climbing in the driver's side.

"We'll bring your cell mate back to you," Crawford assured Ice coolly.

Ice hiked an eyebrow. "I wasn't worried." He turned on his heel and strode away, followed by Fell and Scythe.

Crawford shrugged and slammed his door, throwing the car into gear as Catria murmured healing words over Sabbath in the back. They peeled out, and watching the rear-view mirror, Farfarello found himself staring into Catria's peculiar violet eyes.

"Her internal damage is massive," the woman said sharply. "Let me concentrate."

Farfarello shrugged and plucked a needle from one of the folds of his vest, slipping it into his mouth and turning it over and over with his tongue.

"What happened?" Crawford demanded.

"Didn't you See it?" Farfarello inquired dryly, and Crawford shot him a stern glare.

"I foresaw no danger toward Schwarz. I admit I didn't explore the possibilities where Sabbath was concerned. Now tell me what happened."

Farfarello folded his arms and sank down low in his seat. "The One decided to get serious about killing Sabbath. They sent a biokinetic. We couldn't fight him so we fled, and Sabbath managed to… do something that resulted in his death just before Isa Cell showed up to pull our asses out of the fire."

Crawford's eyes flicked toward the woman in the back, huddled over Sabbath's still form. "Isa Cell. Hmm."

Catria glanced up long enough to give him a deadly smirk, then went back to working her healing. Her hands roamed over Sabbath's body, trying to find the areas of worst damage and repair them.

And Farfarello was struck by an overwhelming sense of deja vu.

None the less, he had to wait until he could get Crawford alone to speak to him about whatever deal he'd made with Sabbath, what Schwarz, Eszet's most expensive team, was costing her. He didn't think Crawford would tell him either, but there were sometimes ways to persuade the oracle.

The rest of the drive home was made in tense silence.

X-X-X


	12. Chapter 12

"What does Eszet WANT from her?"

Crawford's fingers curled around a strong wrist, face pale, but staring calmly past the knife point leveled at his right eye, into the burning gold orb that was the essence of the madman. "It's not your concern, Farfarello. Put me down."

"Like hell it isn't," Farf growled, lips pulling back in a macabre grin. "And like hell I will. Would you still See the future if I took out an eye? I wonder, would it taste like…"

"STOP it, Farf," Schuldich told him sharply, his hand curling around Farf's wrist just above Brad's. "Let him down."

"How were we bought? I want to know. You should too, Schuldich. This is your bank account I'm talking about."

Schuldich's face was implacable. "Don't make me stun you, Farf. Back off."

"I will NOT," Farfarello spat at him, slamming Crawford into the wall once again. The precognitive had, indeed, seen the attack coming, but Farfarello had been too fast for him to react, as usual, and now his toes were barely on the floor as the madman held him up and held the knife to his face.

And then he dropped to the floor as Farfarello twitched, face contorting in rage, and swung around, dropping the Oracle and taking one predatory step toward Schuldich before he stiffened and dropped like a stone in his tracks.

Standing slowly, Crawford straightened his tie and his hair and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Well. That was entertaining, but if you'll excuse me, Schu, I have work to do."

"He had a point," Schu said almost absently, nudging Farfarello's body with his toe. "What DID she offer Eszet that made them willing to hire us out to someone other than our official client?"

"I'm just the go-between. The Elders set the terms and Sabbath accepted them."

"But you delivered them," Schuldich insisted, eyes tilting slyly as he probed at Brad's shields, seeking an opening, the tiniest crack.

"Stay out of my head, Schuldich!" the Oracle snapped.

"Ja, ja, whatever you say Bradley. But the other kids don't play as nice if you keep secrets on the playground."

"And you need to learn when to mind your own business," Crawford told him crisply. "Put Farfarello in his straightjacket. Unfortunately we don't have ceiling hooks, so tie him to the bedposts. Make CERTAIN he's secure."

Schu rolled his eyes. "Again with the babysitting… and while I'm at it, do you want me to read him a story too?"

"No stories. This is punishment after all." Picking up his briefcase, Crawford checked his hair in the microwave reflection. "Now, get to it so I can smooth over this mess with Takatori. He's furious that you slipped away without asking for permission."

"I'm a bodyguard," Schuldich reminded him boredly, "not a hired hand."

"You are whatever Takatori wishes you to be," Brad told him coldly. "Remember that, Schu. We are good for Takatori, he is good for Eszet, and Eszet is good for us. Secure him." He strode toward the door and stepped through it, the latch falling into place with a crisp click.

"Well, don't thank me for saving your life or anything," Schu said with a roll of his eyes and shoulders. He eyed the lithe body at his feet and smirked darkly, bending down to hook his hands under Farfarello's arms. Turning him slowly around, he dragged him to the bedroom, boots stuttering along the carpet.

When he finally got him there, he heaved him onto the bed (Farfarello wasn't that heavy, but his dead weight was awkward to manage) and set about getting him into his straightjacket. He tightened all the buckles, then knotted the ends of the straps down, then wound the straps of his bondage pants around his legs and knotted those down. Farfarello, they had quickly discovered, needed to be trussed up like a mummy if you expected him to stay put. He had no compunctions about dislocating a limb or four to escape a straight jacket, and he had very, very nimble toes. Schu found the chains to attach the rings on the jacket to the bedposts, as well as the rings on the lower strap of the bondage pants. And, believe it or not, he had even seen Farfarello get out of this before. It had taken the madman a good five hours, of course, and five hours was plenty of time for him to cool down.

Farf began to stir to consciousness and that yellow eye snapped open, fiercely dilated and predatory, upper lip pulling back in a snarl. Schu seized his mind momentarily, holding him still as he strapped the bite-mask over his face and tightened it around his head and neck. Releasing him and stepping back just in time to avoid catching the steel prongs across the mouth gap of the bite mask in the hand, Schu backed toward the door, shaking his head and flipping his hair from his face.

"Attacking Crawford was stupid," he said flatly as Farfarello began to thrash, causing the springs in the bed to scream. "Stay here, cool off. I'll dig the contract you seem to want so badly out of the witch's skull and give it to you if you behave."

A wild growl was his only answer, a sudden lurch in his direction, and Schuldich laughed. "Oh, I see. Don't want me mucking around in her head, do you?" He closed on Farfarello, the only Schwarz member who would dare when he was in this state, and crouched by the bed. Blue eyes locking on that single amber orb, he smirked slowly. "She's in bad shape, you know? Truly massive internal damage, every cell bleeding. The Healer's been trying to contain the damage, but it's tough going, you know? Things like Healing are complicated gifts… you really have to know HOW to use them right. She's pretty good though, Catria. Hot, too. If you want to see your witch, you're going to have to calm down."

Farfarello lurched in his direction again, teeth gnashing behind the bite guard.

Schu stood and shook his head. "All right, have it your way. Do yell when you're mostly calm again." He waved a hand flippantly and strode out the door, flipping the light switch and leaving Farfarello in smooth, unbroken blackness.

Crossing the apartment, he knocked on the door to Sabbath's room and opened the door without waiting for a reply. Lounging against the frame, he took in Sabbath's body sprawled across her bed and Catria crouching over her.

"Ladies. How are we doing?"

"Is that the royal 'we'?" Catria asked dryly, smirking back at Schuldich. "I've repaired her body, but her systems are still very much off-kilter. It's going to take some work to bring her back… this one knew how to kill, when he wasn't Collective. Poor Isaac." There was no real sympathy in her voice. "Where's the other guy? The one with the scars?"

"Farfarello? He's on a leash, don't worry."

She gave him a sardonic look. "Yes, and does he need healing as well?"

Schuldich laughed. "Oh, Farfie's got his own quick-healing system built right in. Feel free to take a look if you like, but I'm warning you; even as tightly as I've got him chained, he's still a bloodthirsty psychopath."

"Your concern is noted," she said boredly, brushing past him in a whisper of soft lilac and waving a hand. "Which room?"

Schu pointed, glancing skyward and tossing her a wry smirk as he stepped into the room with Sabbath. "Don't say I didn't warn you…."

Catria made a scoffing noise and he shrugged. Fine, let the bitch find out her own way. Sabbath lay unconscious across her bed and he sat at the edge of it, brushing a strand of dyed-black hair away from her face. She wouldn't hear him if he spoke aloud, of course, but Schu had other methods of communication. Eyes closing, he leaned slightly over her and dove into her mind.

There was no mist, no trees, no path this time. That had been a meditative arena, after all. This was the essential Sabbath, all her thoughts and emotions. It really didn't LOOK like anything or FEEL like anything, since he had a sense most others didn't. But to describe it in terms of sight and touch, it was a hot place, constantly burning and flaring. There was bright light and deep shadow, equal parts goodness and blackness, comforting sapphire pools and a web of blue lightening stretching from horizon to horizon. The landscape was jagged, full of pain and broken pieces, though of course there was some good and whole, and contained in this mental landscape, somewhere, were her memories.

"Schuldich. Nice of you to pay me a get-well visit." It was Sabbath's voice, bitingly sarcastic and humored, as usual.

Good morning, liebchen. Don't mind me, I'm just passing through, he sent back cheerfully as he riffled through her memories, searching for a conversation with Crawford. A very specific conversation….

"How's Farfie?"

Fine, of course. He can take much more punishment than that. You are another story… though miss Catria is doing her best.

"Catria. Then I did see Ice come to the rescue…. What are you looking for?" She materialized even as the demand was voiced, her essence taking on the form of her own face.

Oh, nothing really. Farf just brought up an interesting question or two concerning our agreement with the Inconnu. I would have just asked you, but since you're unconscious…

"Ask Crawford."

Schu laughed. No can do, darling. Our leader has an Eszet-shaped stick up his ass and he never tells us anything unless he absolutely has to, for HIS own benefit.

"Well, you're not going to find it here. That deal is between me and Crawford until the terms are fulfilled. Leave it be." She looked angry and for the briefest moment, Schu hesitated. He didn't very much relish the idea of hearing that shriek in his head again. Like an opera singer with crystal, Sabbath seemed to have a talent for pitching it at just the right tone that it made his mind bounce around in his skull like a tennis ball. Decidedly unpleasant, that. But even the prospect of pain didn't slow him for long.

Well, you know me, kitten. I never could leave anything be….

"Schu, please. Ask Crawford. If he finds out you got information from me, the deal's off. I already know you don't give a shit about my friends, but when Eszet finds out they lost their end of the bargain because of you… you might find yourself on the wrong end of a golf club."

Schu felt his shock reverberate through the connection he'd formed with her. How did you find out about that? he demanded, outraged, even though he thought he might already know. Dammit, he was going to KILL Farfarello….

"I talk to your teammates you know, including Nagi and Crawford. Nagi mentioned it once, I figured out what he meant to say between the lines. It doesn't matter. This is a business deal. Leave it alone."

Schuldich was about to fire back a snappy retort, but then dimly felt his body being moved. He withdrew, finding his own mind in the cacophony of others around him, and sank down into himself again. He was on the floor in a rather uncomfortable position where he'd landed after Catria had apparently shoved him off the bed. He glared up at her only to blink in confusion as she dragged Sabbath off the bed and struggled to carry her out toward the door.

"What are you doing?" he inquired, blue eyes narrow.

"Saving her life and bringing him down," she grunted as she dragged Sabbath's dead weight across the hardwood. "At least, I hope so." The hardwood turned to carpet and she adjusted her grip, moving out of the doorway and Schuldich's line of sight.

Farfarello was still thrashing like a trapped animal when Catria peeked back into his room, blood spattering the neck and chest of his straightjacket where he'd spit it through the bite guard, having bitten his tongue during his struggles. He writhed, body bending in ways human beings should not be able to and making animal noises. When he saw Catria, he lunged toward her, but the chains held him fast.

Unafraid, the violet-eyed healer sat on the edge of his bed. "I've managed to heal Sabbath's body," she said quietly.

Golden eye wild with rage, he snapped his chest at her only to fall short.

She continued anyway. "Her metabolic energy has been sent severely off-kilter, though. She's comatose and I doubt she'd come out of it, even with my best efforts as a psychic healer. But there might be a way to reset her energy currents and revive her. You've got a lot of excess energy, I noticed. I'd like to take that from you if you're willing… though in this state of mind, I'm not sure there's such a thing as 'willing'… and use it to bring her back."

Farfarello fell back momentarily, panting as blood sprayed out through the bite guard with every breath, eyeing her like he wanted to split her open with his bare hands and feast on her intestines. Of course, in this particular mood, he probably did.

Catria shrugged and returned to the doorway. It was risky bringing an unconscious person this close to a psychopath who was having an episode, but she didn't really have much choice. She pulled Sabbath into the room and fought with her dead weight until she was on the mattress.

She noticed that Farfarello did not try to snap at her, did not even seem to notice her.

"Gaia, raise your healing hand. Hecate aid me, mistress of clear vision open my eyes. Let me see beyond sight, let me feel beyond touch, let me listen beyond hearing…"

She let out a slow breath and connected herself to the earth several stories beneath her feet, holding her hands up and still as she began to take mental stock of herself, and her own energies. As Farfarello kicked and growled on the bed, she ignored the surface that bounced beneath her and slowly opened and cleaned out her chakras, preparing herself for the channeling she was about to do. Farf's energy was rage and insanity and to pour that directly into Sabbath would do more harm than good, but there was a way to purify the current first; send it through the earth, through Gaia's lap. The Earth Mother returned love for hatred and she would receive that energy back purified and yet more powerful.

But to do that, she had to come dangerously close to touching Farfarello. Schuldich had already warned her that even in this state, he was dangerous. Even as she held her hands over Sabbath, opening her chakras and feeling the misaligned currents of energy flowing through her, Farfarello yanked his shoulder out of the socket and began to squirm, the straightjacket riding up dangerously. Catria refused to be rushed. She carefully aligned those currents, though doing so ripped open several lines and left them bleeding, on top of the already broken currents throughout her body. One by one, she found the lines and repaired them, as Sabbath's breathing grew shallower and her heartbeat more panicked.

Finally, she turned her hands toward Farfarello and cautiously opened her third eye to his aura, paling slightly when she was met with rage and madness so strong she wasn't entirely sure she would be able to withstand it. His current ran red-hot, and several of his chakras were painfully bright; specifically, the first, fifth, and sixth ones, the centers of soul, body, and sex. She hummed quietly, feeling the burn against the palms of her hands, and drew that energy into herself.

It almost knocked her off focus entirely. Catria had been manipulating chakra energy since she'd been old enough to recognize what she was seeing with her third eye open, but this sort of malevolence, this sort of wickedness, was beyond her ken. She didn't like to deal with individuals like this, which was why she never channeled Ice. Swallowing, she ground her teeth and forced the energy through her body and DOWN. Down into the floor, into the struts of the building, into the foundations, and finally, into the earth. She kept feeding it, and slowly Farfarello's struggles began to slow as she leeched away his power. Finally, when he collapsed against the mattress, she closed off his chakras and cut the flow, moving her left hand away from his body and pointing it toward the floor to receive even as she switched her right hand to Sabbath to funnel that energy into her. Reaching down, she found that current and tugged.

The rush knocked the breath out of her. Could she really put this much energy into a person? It might fuck up her system even more, but she already had so little… biting down on nothing, she opened herself as a conduit again.

Sabbath's body convulsed on the floor, and a droplet of sweat rolled down Catria's forehead. Her skin was on fire, but she knew she could do this, and she concentrated hard on letting that power flow through her and leave her unscathed. A whimper tore itself from Sabbath's throat but she didn't hear it. The girl's feet drummed on the bed, but she didn't feel the vibrations. There was only the current moving from left to right.

And then it ended and Catria shut her open centers down, quickly tying off the end she'd opened up in Sabbath. The girl glowed white now, and Catria was utterly exhausted. She opened her eyes slowly, groggily, and found herself staring into a honey-gold orb belonging to Farfarello.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Catria forced herself to tear her gaze away and get up. "I'm going to leave her here," she said tiredly. "I hear you're fond of her. I hope it's true because I can't carry her out of this room right now. She should wake up before too long, and she'll be confused. So… yeah. Whatever." She stumbled to her feet and toward the door.

Schuldich was there, waiting.

"What did you do?" he inquired curiously, peeking into the room where Farf had turned slightly on his side to nudge his head against Sabbath's shoulder.

"Made history, what do you think? I'm going home. I'll send you a bill," she said sarcastically as she slammed the apartment door.

Schuldich shook his head. "Women," he muttered, and went to watch TV.

X-X-X

Sabbath woke slowly, brought back to consciousness by a tingling energy under her skin that insisted she run, jump, climb trees, do SOMETHING to burn it off. Giving her body a good shake and finding that it eased the sensation a bit, she shifted on the mattress and turned her head.

She didn't hurt anywhere. That struck her as a good sign.

There was a warm body next to her. Farfarello, she noticed as she made out the mop of white hair in the dark room. She moved slowly, flexing her fingers and shivering as they sparked. She felt hyper, like getting up and running circles around the room, bouncing off the walls. That would probably amuse Farf. The rest of Schwarz, though, wasn't liable to find it quite as funny.

Her hands found his face and she realized why he looked so odd in the very dim moonlight; there was a bite guard over his mouth, similar to the one she'd seen on Hannibal Lector, in 'Silence of the Lambs'. Without thinking, she fumbled for the buckles, finding that they were very tightly cinched. She yanked a strap and it came loose, and she slowly slid the end of the strap through the buckle.

Farfarello opened his eye and stared at her. Even in the darkness, the iris gleamed gold. She caught his gaze and then noted the dark splatters on his chin. Leaning in, she tasted them. Blood.

"Why did they lock you up?" she asked as she pulled the bite guard all the way off.

"I tried to strangle Crawford," he said matter-of-factly.

She snickered. "Not that we don't all WANT to, but why did you do that?"

"Because he would not tell me what Eszet wants from you. I have always hated Eszet; I do not want them to have you."

She shook her head. "You worry too much. Which is sweet, but I can take care of myself, Farf." She dropped the bite guard on the floor and sat up slowly, squinting at the gray blur of the straightjacket. "Do you want me to let you out?"

"Crawford will do that when he feels 'punishment' is over." He stretched and shifted, seeming comfortable even in his bonds.

"I didn't ask whether he would. I asked if you wanted ME to."

His eye narrowed, and she smirked at him, and after a long moment, he smirked back. "Yes, please."

Snickering, she felt along the jacket until she found the straps that kept his arms crossed over his chest. The sleeves tied together behind him, though, so it took quite a bit of wiggling on both their parts for her to get at them. Even then, the knot was painfully tight. "Hang on," she muttered. "I'm going to turn the light on."

He nodded, and she tumbled off the bed, catching herself as she made her way toward the door. She'd been Helen Keller in a play, once, and had been taught how to move as though she was blind, hands out, head tilted back so she'd meet obstacles with her hands and not her nose. She found the door and it thumped in the frame, then felt along it for the light switch.

Flicking it, the room was filled with painful brilliance and she was forced to grope her way back to the bed, just as blind as she'd been in the dark. Her night vision was excellent, but those knots had thwarted it. Rubbing her eyes, she felt for them again, found them, and stuck her tongue between her teeth as she worked.

Several minutes later, they finally came undone. She unbuckled the arm straps and he pulled his limbs free as she unhooked the chains from the straightjacket and pants.

"It's too bright," he said simply. "Turn it off."

As she flicked the lights again, he freed himself from the straightjacket entirely, dropping it on the floor and unbuckling the straps that bound his legs. She chuckled and sat down next to him. "So why did they leave me in here with you?"

"Catria healed you," he said, deliberately moving to the edge of the bed to make room for her. "She took energy from me to revive you. The effort wearied her, so she left you here, trusting that I wouldn't hurt you even if I wasn't entirely lucid at the time." His lips twitched upward in a slight smirk, and she returned it.

"And so you didn't," Sabbath pointed out.

"She drained me. I went to sleep." He closed his eye and settled down, skin marble-white in the moonlight.

Nodding, Sabbath got off the bed and sat on the floor. She took a deep breath and folded her legs under her, pressing her palms against the carpet and letting that breath out slowly.

The bed creaked and Farfarello peered over the edge at her. "What are you doing?"

"Grounding and centering. She gave me too much energy and I need to get rid of some of it or I'll break something." Feeling her roots extend to the earth, she gathered that ball of hyperactivity and sent it down.

"Was it dangerous for her to do that to save you?" he inquired, sounding thoughtful.

Sabbath considered that, then nodded. "Yes. I don't work with chakra energy much, but I'm fairly sure that a transfer between two people is at least a little risky."

He nodded, then eyed her. "Come here."

Hiking an eyebrow, she crawled back up onto the bed. When he reached for her, she caught his hand and bit one of his fingers.

He seized a handful of shirt and yanked her down, prompting a yelp from her as he spun her over his body, twisted like a big cat, and pinned her to the mattress. She wrapped her fingers around his wrists and pushed, grunting with the strain of trying to get him off her, but her struggles were ineffective at best. Changing tactics, she released him and found the wall behind her head, thrusting up with her hips even as she shoved herself down. When he landed again, it was directly on her stomach, and she coughed, prompting a feral grin from him as his hands left her shoulders and searched for hers, fingers curling hard around her wrists, bruising. She fought, rocking from side to side and making little snarling noises even as she dexterously twisted her wrists in his grip. She managed to tear one hand away and slid it between her body and his thigh, loosening his grip on her and sitting up to wrap her arm around his waist. As she fell back to the mattress, she pulled him with her, then snapped her hips upward and popped him off, rolling quickly away and coming to a stop facing him.

Like a cat who'd just found a tasty-looking mouse, Farfarello found his feet on the mattress, teeth showing white in the darkness, and prowled toward her.

Sabbath rotated one wrist. It felt slightly sprained. Farfarello didn't really understand pain, or else he didn't care about causing it. She should end this if she didn't want to get hurt, but she had never backed down from a wrestling match before, even when she was grossly overmatched. He pounced and she leaped sideways, bouncing on the springy bed as she twisted and threw herself at him from the side. She bore him over sideways and he rolled onto his back, hands finding fistfuls of her clothing and hauling her onto him. She laughed and he clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Shhh. Crawford," he scolded amusedly.

She bit him and he groaned. "Fuck Crawford. No, really, I mean it; fuck Crawford. He's one of the few people I could learn to truly hate."

Farfarello shrugged. "You could, but I don't think he would enjoy it. That requires a certain willingness to loosen up, to let go, and to fall. Brad will never fall, and he feels there's too much weight on his shoulders to kneel."

"That's sad, when you're too uptight to even orgasm properly," Sabbath snickered, then yelped as with ridiculous ease, Farfarello reversed their positions, laying her flat on her back and pinning her. He was strong, amazingly so, and if she'd escaped OR topped him, it was only because he found it amusing to let her.

"Enough about Brad."

"You're not angry anymore?"

He considered that for a moment, then smirked at her. "I am. But there's a line between anger and rage and I've sunken back to the lesser side."

"Are you angry at me?" If he was, this position would get a hell of a lot more threatening in a heartbeat. He saw the defiance flash in her eyes and shook his head.

"No. You're doing what you must. I think it's wrong, but it won't help to argue with you, will it?"

"My choice. I had others, but I made this one."

He nodded. "And now it's the future we should concern ourselves with. You made a choice and it will play out. But we have…."

"A fight against The One to orchestrate. I know." She flexed her wrists under his cruel fingers, feeling their bite against the soft skin. "They tried to assassinate me. They upped the stakes."

Farf leaned in, teeth blazing along her throat. She kneed him in the hip. He ignored it. "Then we should up the stakes in return. You got your vengeance on the biokinetic. He splattered nicely across stone, like music."

"He's not the only one."

"Hungry for another kill?" He found an artery and bit down, prompting a cry from her. Sweetness flooded his mouth, enhanced by a bit of salt taste that still remained from her sweat and tears. Too bad Catria had washed the blood from her lips.

She gave her wrists a sharp twist and made a noise of pain and anger through her teeth, promptly twisting them again and arching into him, drawing close even as she tried to push him away. "This one's deserved. But it's risky as hell. I don't know where they are and I promised I'd dowse."

"Not now," he said simply, teeth finding her earlobe and making a toy of it.

Her nails scraped his cheek, hard, and he released her earlobe to savage her fingers. "No," she agreed. "Not now."

X-X-X


	13. Chapter 13

Crawford reached for the door to Farfarello's room and stopped cold as a vision flashed. He could search the strands of the future, as he'd done earlier, but sometimes pieces like this randomly came to him and stopped him in his tracks. He had had to depend on serendipity before Eszet had taught him how to use his power at will. Now, it seemed, Serendipity was on his side.

Thanks to his power, he wasn't at all surprised to open the door and see Farfarello free of his bonds, the straightjacket and bite guard discarded on the floor. The bed had been practically torn apart, though the two people in it were still entirely dressed, so he decided that he didn't want to make assumptions about what might have gone on. Farfarello and Sabbath were dozing, tangled together, Farf's head pillowed on Sabbath's stomach, her fingers resting on his hair. He had his arms around her waist, wound under her, and was treating her like a plush toy to cuddle, which Crawford found rather endearing for an entire nanosecond. Then he adjusted his glasses, stepped into the room, and cleared his throat loudly.

"While I am glad to see you've calmed down," he said bitingly, "It's morning, and time isn't slowing down for any of us. She needs to get to work, and if that work involves leaving this building, or even stepping out into the hallway, you have to be with her. Schuldich and I need to accompany Takatori today, but Nagi will be here." He waited for a moment, then said sharply, "Farfarello?"

"Understood," he replied quietly.

"Good." Crawford turned and shut the door behind him, shaking his head.

"Well, I'm disappointed; your glasses aren't steamed," Schuldich remarked as he stepped out into the living room to meet Crawford. "I was sort of hoping for some scandalous thoughts, or maybe even better, the witch's corpse..."

"The witch needs to stay alive," Crawford reminded him with a smirk. "She is going to be VERY useful to us. Speaking of which, there's been a slight change of plans. We'll speak on the way to the meeting." He nodded toward the door, and Schuldich fell in behind him, the prospect of intrigue drawing him like a fly to honey.

Sabbath continued to sleep as Farfarello disentangled himself and slipped off to get dressed. His weight on the edge of the mattress woke her a few moments later, though, and when her eyes cracked open they were almost honey-gold in the light of the window.

"It's time to work," he told her. "What are you going to do?"

Sabbath yawned and brushed the sleep from her eyes, sitting up and straightening her rumpled clothing. "Dowse," she said matter-of-factly. "And find where those bastards are hiding."

"What do you need to dowse?" he inquired as she hit the floor and padded toward the kitchen.

"A map of New York, a piece of string, and something silver."

"Then we're not going out."

"No, I should be able to find everything I need right here. Did you want another exciting day?" She smirked at him.

He returned it. "That was an irritating day, not an exciting one. Exciting days mean someone is suffering."

"I was suffering," she told him archly, hands on hips.

He laughed. "Exciting days mean someone I don't like is suffering."

"Better." Still eyeing him sulkily, she started to rummage through the drawers in the kitchenette. "Hmm. Maybe there'll be a map down at the security desk."

"I'm to accompany you even if you so much as step out of the apartment," he informed her. "Though I was rather ineffective yesterday."

"Well, no less than I was," she returned cheerfully.

He shook his head. "You managed to kill the biokinetic. And without lifting a finger…"

"Which was good, because I was in no shape to lift a finger…"

He smiled at her, golden eye narrowing. "Your goddess answered your call."

Sabbath flushed slightly. "Look, Farf. It's not like I have Her ear exclusively or anything. She answered, yes, but She answers ALL Her faithful children, and really, anyone who calls on Her as long as their cause is worth Her time. And you'd be surprised at how little pride Kali has about who to grant help and who to withhold it from. As you said: She answered my call, and all I wanted was the death of one psychic."

"A psychic who was harming you, her follower and priestess. Was that not a matter of pride?"

"It might have been," Sabbath admitted, solemn, "but first and foremost, I am Her daughter. If someone was tearing your daughter apart from the inside, and she cried to you for help, wouldn't you come down on her attacker like a ton of bricks?"

"I don't have a daughter," he pointed out. "And my family is dead by my unwilling hand."

"They weren't your flesh and blood," she pointed out. "Suspend your disbelief and imagine with me for a moment. Somehow, for some reason, you have a daughter. She is yours to raise as you see fit, to teach and to guard. She has your eyes and your personality, and every time you see her you see a reflection of everything you like and hate most about yourself. She worships you; you're her father, her most beloved parent. Everything you do is a marvel to her, everything you say is her ultimate wisdom. And someone dares to step into your lives. He plunges mental hands into her vibrant little body. He tears apart her lungs, her beating heart. Her heart beats because of you, she breathes because of you, and as he assaults her, her soul is torn away from you. She screams in pain… wouldn't you help her? It's okay to say no, but think about it for a minute."

He raised an eyebrow and settled back, watching her solemnly for a long moment. His eye slowly narrowed, and she began to think he might tell her he couldn't care less what happened to some brat who just happened to be related to him.

"I would make a canvas of his organs," he said matter-of-factly. "I would keep him alive for days of agony before I tore HIM apart from the inside and soaked my hands in his blood."

A smile pulled at her lips. "Exactly."

He considered that for a moment. "I assume that is, more or less, how your goddess feels?"

"I'd assume, yeah." She watched him, eyebrows tilting in concern as he seemed to sink deep into himself. "Farf?"

"You have something to do. I need to think." He was off the bed and headed for the door before she could blink.

"All right," she said quietly, shrugging and glancing toward the window. Damn, but Farf was complex. She had a vague idea what might be going on in his head, but even Schuldich would only have been able to guess. Shaking her head vigorously (and managing to wrench her neck in the process) she swept the ball of emotions tied to Farfarello from the center of her chest. She had to dowse, which required quite a bit of concentration. She tried to think of where Crawford might keep a map of the city, then remembered where she had one. Standing, she made her way toward her room, where New York By Night™ waited on her bookshelf. There were maps inside it, made for game-play but accurate none the less, that she could use. Pulling the slim volume from the shelves, she put it on the floor and opened it to a five boroughs map. She weighted the pages down with a set of stones from her altar, then found a piece of silver yarn and tied a small crystal to it. Closing her eyes, she held the string near the quartz, and let it slide slowly through her fingers.

When her fingers seemed to flare with energy, she stopped and tied a knot at that spot in the yarn. This was her spot. Clipping off the remaining yarn, she let out a breath and sank into a semi-trance state, holding the yarn over the map.

"The One," she murmured, wincing slightly at the insectile chittering that rose in the back of her mind. She sat like that for a long moment, unmoving, concentrating on the pendent. It still swung slightly from her moving it, but it began to slow, and finally stopped.

She began to move it over the map, carefully from top to bottom. It remained mostly still as she circled it over Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Queens. She moved left, and the pendent began to swing, slowly at first, then into decisive circles.

Sabbath opened her eyes and realized just what idiots they had all been.

X-X-X

"If you had to venture a guess," she said to Crawford several hours later as they each enjoyed a cup of something hot and caffeinated (tea for Sabbath, coffee for Brad), "where would you look for The One first?"

He glanced up and eyed her quietly, obviously trying to determine her motives for asking. She simply returned his gaze, her face emotionless.

"From a strategic viewpoint," she clarified.

He shook his head. "I couldn't say."

"They first appeared in the Bronx. That's where they are. We've scoured that area clean and never found them, but my attempts indicate that that's where they are."

"You'll be sending out teams then?" he inquired politely.

Sabbath nodded. "I tried to dowse again for a more specific area and failed, probably because I was busy beating myself up over not having seen it earlier. But we have less ground to cover now, and more telepaths to cover it with. Are you sure you can't spare Schu?"

Crawford smiled dryly. "If you need him, you're welcome to ask him to come along. I'm sure I could work something out with Takatori."

She glared. "Sure. You say that because you know damned well that he'll tell me where to shove it."

Crawford couldn't resist a chuckle. "Perhaps."

Snorting, Sabbath shook her head. "Fine, I'll see if I can goad him into doing it. I'll probably fail miserably because Schuldich resists goading, but oh well." She put her mug of tea down and glanced around paranoidly. Nobody else was in the living room, though she knew both Nagi and Farfarello were home.

"Crawford, about our deal…"

"Having second thoughts?" He smirked at her, but behind the glasses, his blue eyes were hard.

She shook her head. "No. But I don't think Eszet really understands what they're missing out on with the Inconnu. I'm already fairly certain they're going to screw us over if they find out. Do you suppose you could… understate our abilities in your reports?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. And if you have that much power among you, why should Schwarz make any difference to you? If that cryokinetic I saw was any indication, you shouldn't need our aid."

"We do need your aid," she said quietly. "Lack of unity is perhaps the one Achilles heel of the Inconnu. With Eszet in their midst, they'll stick together. You know, me against you, us against the world."

He slowly lowered his coffee, watching her. "And that's why you accepted Schwarz's involvement. To force the Inconnu to unite."

She shrugged. "That's part of it."

"You have potential, my dear," Crawford said sardonically.

"Maybe, but I only manipulate people in ways that will benefit them," she said dryly. "Bad karma, dontcha know."

He chuckled. "And how does this scenario fit into your idea of karma?"

"It doesn't." She glanced up at him, pretty face solemn. She looked incredibly young, for her age, perhaps fifteen at most. "I make my own choices and decisions, and I made this choice. Don't tell me you're starting to develop a conscience, Crawford. That would be damned inconvenient."

"Perish the thought," he returned, "but pardon me if I find it amusing how you cling to your religion even when reality doesn't mesh with it."

"Well, it's better than believing in myself as god," she told him with a mockingly sweet smile. "What happens if you fail? That little illusion comes crashing down and everyone realizes just how human you are."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't intend to fail, and don't presume to know my goals, for myself OR for Schwarz. You are the outsider here, Sabbath. Outside, among your people, we are the odd ones out, but keep your future in mind."

"If I did that, you and Schuldich might be having a very uncomfortable chat," Sabbath shot back at him. "He might hate me, but he hates Eszet more."

"I'm aware of that. None the less, he serves Eszet faithfully because he understands that there is no other life for him."

She shook her head, eyes narrowing in thought. "Whatever. I haven't forgotten."

"I hadn't anticipated that you would forget. And I am not enough of a fool to think you won't find a way to defend your compatriots. I'm also not enough of a fool to think that whatever you do, Eszet won't predict it. So since we understand each other on that issue, perhaps we should simply let the matter lie. I will do what my orders from The Mainframe dictate, you will do what your heart and your love for these ragamuffin psychics dictates, and we shall see who comes out ahead."

"Yes," she said coldly, standing and leaving her tea behind. "We shall see."

"Rinse your mug," he reminded her as she headed for the living room, and she snorted.

"Do dirty dishes annoy you, Crawford?" Turning, her eyes and teeth flashed ferally at him. "Why do you think I left it?"

She disappeared and Crawford sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Teenagers," he murmured with a smirk, returning his attention to the business section of the newspaper.

X-X-X

Sabbath was lying on her bed when Nagi went to look in on her, hands folded behind her head, eyes trained on the ceiling. One leg was hanging off the bed, giving her the appearance of having just flopped down and decided to stay. Perhaps she had.

"Something's wrong," he said simply as he sat on the edge of the mattress, next to that leg.

"Aren't you a genius," she said deadpan. "A lot's wrong with the entire world, blue-eyes. It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with me."

He shook his head, looking both young and solemn. "Something's wrong with you, though. I won't pry if you don't want me to, but I thought it would be worth a try to see what's bugging you."

She took a breath and let it out slowly, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "Sacrifice. And martyrdom. Anyway, I talked to Fell and gave him instructions to pass along to the others. They're not happy that I'm here. They want me home, with them. I get the feeling they don't trust you." Her lips quirked upward at the corners.

"They shouldn't. We're untrustworthy, though I understand our fidelity can be bought for the right amount of money."

She chuckled. "Ah, blue-eyes, my little sociopath. You fuck people over for a living and it doesn't bother you a bit. Maybe one of these days I'll be that selfish. I look forward to it, too. Caring about others hurts."

"Nobody cared about me until Schwarz," Nagi said firmly. "We're a fucked-up family, but it's still a family. And I'd rather sell my soul than my body."

"But the body's just a shell. Soul's eternal. Which doesn't mean I don't give a shit what happens to MY body, but I do place more value on my soul. My soul is ME."

"Everything you are is you," Nagi countered. "You walk into a room and the room vibrates with a sense of you-ness. That's why Schuldich is downing headache medicine like there's no tomorrow."

She laughed. "I know, he can't wait to get rid of me. He should get out some more… there's a potential relationship waiting for him out there."

"Says who?" Nagi inquired curiously.

Sabbath waved a hand. "Says me and my personal oracle. I've done readings on you, Schu, and Crawford. None on Farf so far, none on The One, none on myself. Not recently, anyway. I will; it's always best to go into battle prepared, as Sun Tzu would say. But not now. I don't want to know what bad things might be in store."

"But if you avoid hearing about the bad things, you also avoid the reassurance of hearing good things," He pointed out. "Doesn't it go both ways?"

"With Crawford on our side, I can afford to procrastinate in this area. I always draw a rune in the morning just to see what the day will bring. Lately, the results haven't been encouraging. Makes me want to just stay in bed." She sighed quietly, then gathered herself and sat up. "Tell you what, baby. Let's take Farf and go get some ice cream."

"Ice cream?" He gave her a bemused look.

She nodded. "Yes, ice cream. It's a hot and sunny day, perfect for walking and ice cream, and I need to get out of this apartment. You do too – you've been cooped up with your laptop for hours. Your legs probably don't cramp anymore, but getting some blood flow into them would be good. You're not walking as much here as you would if you were home and in school." As she talked, she moved around her room, finding a pair of sandals and slipping them onto her feet, hunting down her sunglasses, and pulling a hat onto her head, a brown Stetson that somehow looked entirely appropriate on her. It might have been the faded low-riser jeans or the way the halter-top exposed certain lengths of flawless white skin.

"Gothic cowgirl?" he teased, and she mimed shooting a gun at him.

"Shut up and get out of that sweatshirt. You'll roast." She surged toward the door and caught the frame, swinging around it and toward Farf's room, next door and down the hall. He heard her chant something.

"Inner demons raping me

my blackened twin escaping me

I trust myself

And lose myself

In Amber-eyed Insanity…."

"You're sick," he called after her, and heard her giggle just before she knocked on Farf's door.

The sun beat down mercilessly on all three of their heads as they walked to Baskin Robbins™, Sabbath interchanging a shuffle-skip-step with her normal pace every few seconds or so and doing full pivots to avoid people who crossed her path. How she could dance when the air was so stifling, Nagi didn't know. Farfarello moved like a panther behind him, silent and graceful, as always. And still wearing black. He wasn't sweating, and when Nagi brushed up against his bare arm, his skin was cool. He was a bit paranoid, fully expecting The One to attack them on their little outing, but even given his fears and the muggy weather, it was good to be out of his room. And rather amusing to watch Sabbath brazenly order a triple-scoop chocolate ice-cream cone, hands on her hips as if daring anyone to comment on her sugar or fat intake. The clerk most certainly didn't, handing her her cone and boredly calling, "next?"

After he and Farfarello had both been served (cookie dough for Nagi and strawberry for Farfarello) they proceeded to wander along the streets, gazing into windows, people-watching, and generally being overheated and useless. Even though New York was incredibly busy, there was at least room to spread his elbows and turn in a circle, which was more than could be said for Tokyo. Of course, the people were coarser here. There were no real manners, and nobody seemed to have a sense of personal space. They pushed and jostled and didn't seem to care if they infringed on you, and Nagi made several quick saves to keep from losing his ice cream cone altogether.

Sabbath seemed happier outside, and the outing wasn't necessarily unpleasant. It was probably worthy it just to see Farfarello chomping contentedly at a strawberry ice cream cone, though the color put a few unpleasant thoughts in Nagi's head as to why he might have chosen it. They found a fountain to sit on, and Sabbath found a penny on the sidewalk. She fingered it for a moment, then gave it to Nagi.

"Make a wish and throw it in."

He blinked. "But… I don't have a wish. I mean, I wouldn't know what to wish for."

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It can be something huge or small, important or stupid. The universe doesn't care what you wish for, it'll still do its best to give it to you if you wish sincerely. Now, make a wish."

He held the penny between his fingers and stared at it as he tried to think. His fingers tingled. The coin felt… almost charged… "What did you do to it?" he demanded of Sabbath.

She laughed. "NAGI. For the gods' sakes, make a wish and throw the damned penny in the fountain!"

He frowned at her and she elbowed him in the ribs, so he sighed and twisted around. The penny was still making his fingers tingle. Thinking for a moment, he held the penny tightly. It wasn't really a wish in the sense of "I wish …." But he sent his thoughts into it as best he could and then pitched it toward one of the fountain's upper tiers. It landed with a splash.

Sabbath grinned.

"It was really more like two wishes," Nagi mumbled, feeling embarrassed for engaging in such a childish act.

She shrugged. "I don't think The Powers That Be mind. We all have a million wishes and a million dreams. They change every day. Some last, some don't. You're no different than anybody else in that respect."

"What would you wish for, Farf?" Nagi asked, changing the subject so he was no longer the focus and tapping Farfarello's leg.

He thought that over for a moment. "You know my true wish already. The death of The Liar, his façade stripped away, and his downfall. It's my greatest wish."

"But you have smaller wishes," Sabbath prodded.

"No. That would only serve to distract my focus." He gazed evenly at the nothing straight ahead of him. "There can be no distraction. God's agents are cunning and they are everywhere."

"But God's agents are priests and church mothers," Sabbath said gently. "Not much of a threat, unless I'm missing something."

"God also numbers the law enforcement among his agents. Do they not uphold justice? Do they not protect his flock? The meek ones are no threat to me, but the judges would kill me if they could."

"Sometimes you sound incredibly paranoid," Nagi murmured.

Farf turned that amber gaze onto him and Nagi smirked. "I am not paranoid if the world really IS out to get me," he said darkly.

"Even if it's your fault that the world is out to get you, Mr. serial killer?" Sabbath teased.

Farfarello glared mildly at her. "God began this war. I will end it."

"And I don't doubt you," she said quietly. "But I'm just pointing out the obvious: it takes two to tango."

"Then we will dance until one of us falls in flames."

She smirked. "I had a feeling you'd say that. So between you and God, who's the better dancer?"

"I suppose we will see," he replied, smirking back at her. "But my homeland had a saying; never give a sword to a man who cannot dance." He took her wrist and guided her hand until she could feel the hilt of one of his many knives hidden under his clothing. "Mine is the dance of blood and pain, of tears and suffering. I have never faltered, never missed a step. On the bodies of his chosen ones, I dance with joy and malice. I am wickedness, come to oppose goodness. You think I don't really understand all that entails, but I DO. Without goodness, there can be no wickedness, so when I destroy God, I will destroy myself. But God has already destroyed me. He accomplished that the day he shattered my life. To fall with him would only be the completion of the cycle. I returned as a demon to make him suffer. Once my work is done, I will die as I should have."

"But God is the dance of everything," she reminded him. "He's bigger than you are. You might hurt him with every life you take but you won't kill him. As long as an atom remains to vibrate in its place, God exists."

"I will do whatever it takes," he said quietly, and she smiled.

"Perhaps you should rethink your tactics." He bristled and she squeezed his hand. "I just meant that maybe you should kill him where it really matters, since you won't be able to destroy the essence of divinity."

"And you know how to do this."

"Oh, sure," she said lightly. "Do what I did. Kill him here." She tapped his chest, then scooted over away from him and next to Nagi.

He watched her impassively. Kill God in his heart? He had done that already, many, many times, directing all his hatred and all his anger at God and feeling him cringe at the strength of it. The Maker's tears had rained down upon him on many occasions, but only served to fuel his rage. No, there was only one way for God to die; screaming. And he would be the one to make it so.

They returned to the apartment in relative silence. They were not accosted. On some level, Nagi was almost disappointed. The tension could have been cut with a knife and he was tired of waiting for The One to attack. He wanted something to happen and break the stalemate, though, given how Sabbath seemed predisposed to be caught in the crossfire, that might not have been a great idea. She wasn't psychic, after all.

Though, all things considered, Farfarello was a great bodyguard.

X-X-X


	14. Chapter 14

Damn, but it's good to get out, Schuldich mused as he stepped up onto the curb, stretching and shaking out his hair. Hot, but good. Being cooped up in that apartment with the witch and Crawford was wearing on his nerves, and being let out only to accompany Takatori was even more frustrating. The One might attack him while he was alone like this, just one telepath against however many minions they summoned to take him down, but he was feeling powerful and glorious and devil-may-care, so he had decided not to give a shit and now here he was, hunting down a bar where he could grab something to drink and wait around until the nightclubs opened. He pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into the cool darkness. He found a corner table and ordered something relatively weak; after all, the night was still young. Lounging in his seat, he watched the people enter and leave, slipping his mind into their minds with the skill of long practice and amusing himself with all their petty little hopes and tragedies.

The entrance of a serene mind put a fast halt on his game, and he straightened.

Cross.

The redhead didn't appear to have seen him. It could be coincidence, especially considering that this bar wasn't far from the club where Schuldich had first met Cross. For a moment, he debated. He hated encounters with previous one-night-stands, because quite a few of them seemed to think they were entitled to a follow-up, and he was no one's bitch. However, Cross didn't seem like the type to beg him for another round, or beg for ANYTHING for that matter. His patience had held even though Schu had tried his damnedest to tease him, an activity which had been immensely satisfying even if Cross didn't actually stoop to begging. And, Schu discovered, Cross had shown remarkable skill in teasing him right back… all right, maybe a second encounter wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"Yo, Kreuz," he whispered, sending the greeting brushing across Cross's mind. Cross turned, tilted his head, and lit up in one of the warmest grins Schu had ever seen directed at him.

"Hey Schu," he called, then proceeded to sit down at the bar and order himself a beer.

Schu was slightly surprised, but also a bit relieved. "You're welcome to come over and sit, you know," he called, just barely raising his voice.

Cross held up a finger… one moment, please. Once he'd taken a drink of his beer, he obligingly slid of his stool and slid into the seat across from Schu. "I wasn't sure you'd want me to intrude," he said honestly. "One night stands are just that…"

"Believe me, I know," Schu purred. "And normally, I don't want to be intruded upon. But after a night like that, I just couldn't bring myself to NOT say hello."

Cross smirked and Schu felt his thoughts turn deep, erotic red with the memory. So, the other redhead had enjoyed himself just as much… excellent. Schu felt a deadly grin slide across his face and he crossed his legs, fingers meandering over to Cross's knuckles. His hands were calloused, and STRONG… so nice to feel sliding over his body…

"Careful, Schu, you're drooling," Cross teased gently, and Schu rolled his eyes.

"Well, who wouldn't be? I don't suppose there's any chance of getting you into bed again?"

"Straight to the point, aren't you?" Cross chuckled. "I'm actually pretty lenient in that regard. As long as you don't expect anything other than sex and maybe friendship, you can have sex in abundance."

"That won't work with most people," Schuldich pointed out.

"But it would work with you."

"That it would. Your place or mine?"

Cross burst into laughter. "You can't be that desperate," he challenged.

"I'm not. Are you?"

"Of course not."

"So…?"

He sighed. "So it'll have to be either your place or neutral ground. I have guests."

Schuldich grinned in triumph. "Hotel it is."

"This is going to become a habit, isn't it?" Cross mused dryly as they left the bar together.

Schuldich laughed. "Doubtful. I'm not staying in New York forever. But while I'm here, I might as well enjoy the local scenery, don't you think?"

He smirked. "In that… we wholeheartedly agree."

X-X-X

"This is fucking idiotic and I don't like it," Jordan muttered as she crouched on the lip of the roof of an apartment building, watching Fell slide through the crowd below. "This is a stupid plan. Who the fuck coordinated this, anyway? 'Split up and surround'? What the fucking hell? We'll get picked off like this and that bastard knows it…."

"Cool it, baby," Griss advised, gravel scraping under his feet as he followed Fell's path. "Ain't nobody alone anyway, and you know how Fell fuckin' hates to have his space invaded. 'Sides, all together we'd stick out like a gringo in La Madre Nadia."

"Right, and rooftop surveillance is SO much better," She returned sarcastically, scrambling to catch up. "If somebody sees us, we're SO fuckin' dead…."

Griss showed her his teeth. "If somebody wants to be all up in MY face about it they'd better have a fuckin' will 'n testament."

She smirked back at him, then glanced across the street. "Snowflake?"

"Hell, if we could see her, I'd be fuckin' disappointed. She prolly ain't there, though… crowd's better for her."

"Crowd'd be better for us if we could tail worth a damn," she proposed cheerfully. "Not that I'd chase Fell's tail in half a million…."

I found something.

Jordan sucked in a breath in surprise and made a mental note to smack Fell once she was within range. Found what?

In lieu of a reply, he filled her head with a cold, insectile buzzing that made her rub her ears and glare in irritation at the back of his head. It's below us and to the south.

Jordan shared a glance with Griss, two sets of black eyes narrowing even as they smoldered with violence. The One… if not the core, than an arm, at least, was housed nearby.

How many? Griss demanded, and even his mental voice was a growl.

Hell if I know. All the non-psis in the area are fucking up my reception. Which is probably why we haven't been able to find them before, if I had to hazard a guess. Not to mention the fact that nobody thought to comb the area with a telepath.

Conceited bastard, Jordan thought, and she didn't care if Fell heard it. Let's take it in closer.

I will take it in closer, Fell corrected. You three stay back. I can hide my presence in the minds of these people, but you can't. You'll stand out like beacons.

And if we stay back and they attack you…. Griss reasoned.

I'll enjoy the slaughter.

Jordan rolled her eyes and shrugged, and Griss nodded. A'ight, you're on your own. But remember what Sab said and don't try to absorb….

Please. Trying to eat one of these weaklings would be like snacking on cardboard. They've got nothing that would satisfy me.

With that, Fell picked up his pace as Jordan and Griss pulled to a stop, watching his dark and slender form fade into the distance. Griss made an irritated sound and looked over the edge of the roof, trying once again to spot Katerina and failing.

"Prick," Jordan muttered, and he turned to smirk at her. She was scowling, but her features were far too petite to correctly accommodate her ire, and thus it looked more like a pout. An adorable one, at that.

"Chill," he advised, fingers tightening imperceptibly on the brick ledge. "He can handle himself."

"He don't know what he's dealin' with anymore than we do," she shot back, curling her upper lip in a vague snarl. "S'a fuckin' show-boat, good for nothin'…."

"He's a telepath. His mind's fucked up. No reason for you to sweat it, 'less you like 'im a little more'n you want anybody to know."

"Don't make me come after you," she threatened, and he laughed.

"Fire and stone? Sounds like an 'End of the World' movie. You could get Kevin Costner to lead…."

"Why, so you could stare at his ass?"

His eyes flashed. "FUCK, it's on now…" He pounced her and she scrambled out of the way, laughing and swinging around to tackle him. They went down in a flurry of gravel, rolling and tussling until he finally managed to slam her shoulders into the roof. "One," he taunted. "Two. Thr…."

She lurched upward and twisted, and he fought to stay on.

"FUCK. Stay down… One, t…."

We've got a problem, Fell's mental voice declared, just before the sidewalk about two blocks ahead of where they were exploded.

They didn't see it, but their wrestling match was instantly forgotten as they scrambled to the edge of the roof just in time to see chunks of concrete and metal tubing raining down upon the unprotected heads of the crowd. Those who were hit fell where they stood.

"Holy shit," Griss murmured. "What the fucking HELL..?"

"THERE," Jordan growled, pointing. Fell was sprinting back toward them, in an all-out, run-for-your-life-there's-a-monster-behind-you dash. He was gripping one shoulder with the opposite hand and that arm hung useless at his side. And lumbering after him….

"Jesus FUCK. What IS that?" Jordan demanded, poised to leap from the roof despite the distance she'd fall.

"Fuckin' Resident Evil shit," Griss snarled, bolting toward another edge of the building where the metal rungs of a fire escape waited. Grabbing the arching bars, he jumped and clapped the insides of his feet together on the outsides of the bars, sliding down several stories to the ground. He leaped the last five feet, going into a rolling tuck even as Jordan came down where he'd landed, and rubbing his thumbs against his raw palms. "Don't know what the fuck it is… but take it OUT."

She simply nodded, hands curling into fists as they charged out from between buildings.

Fell bolted past them, silken hair flying. "Retreat, NOW!" he commanded, and Griss and Jordan fell in behind him, watching as screaming humans fled the scene. Coming after them was a behemoth, a truly monstrous entity. It might have been a biokinetic once, but it had been transformed into the ultimate war machine, a hulking, over-muscled parody of a human being. Its head was nearly lost in the coils of its neck and its mammoth biceps were at least as thick around as Griss's shoulders. Its body was highly imbalanced; one arm was noticeably slimmer than the other, with long fingers that ended in bone talons, while the other made a many-veined fist. One leg was also longer than the other, so it lumbered at a crazy tilt, drool swinging from its slack-jawed mouth. It made guttural sounds of rage, but there was no emotion in its empty eyes – eyes that reflected the light, like a predator's. Katerina melted out of thin air to help Fell along and use what minor healing abilities she possessed, and Jordan and Griss brought up the rear. Griss picked up a fallen pipe, hands molding it frantically as they went. The chunk of cement at the end of it became a serviceable club with a decent amount of play.

The behemoth, with its longer strides, closed on them.

"S'gaining," Griss snarled. "Katerina! Get Fell out of here and report back! Me and J.'ll handle this motherfucker…"

Katerina nodded crisply and hurried Fell off. The telepath sent back one final warning. Its touch will rot your skin. Don't let it hit you!

Griss chuckled ferally, then turned to greet Jordan's grim expression.

"We can't take this shit," she said matter-of-factly, and he shrugged, knowing damned well that it didn't matter if they could take it or not. They WERE taking it on – that was the only important thing.

"Then we go down fighting," he said as though it was something he did every day. "Hey, J.?"

"If you're gonna give me some sappy goodbye shit, fuckin' save it," she snapped. "You'll regret it later."

"Ain't never gonna regret this. Love you."

She let out a frustrated sigh and spat on the ground. "Right. Love you too, asshole. Now, can we fucking get down to business?" Her small, knotted fists burst into dark red flames.

Griss just smirked at the approaching creature. The ground shook under his feet from its footsteps and then a string of drool splattered his shoulder, it was so close. "S'right, motherfucker, bring it on…. Got one Inconnu-style ass-kickin', ready to deliver."

And then they clashed.

X-X-X

Nagi looked up in solemn curiosity as frantic, loud pounding on the apartment door vibrated the walls around him. Sabbath's head shot up and Farfarello's gaze swiveled to pinpoint the door. All three of them had been lounging in the living room, Sabbath reading on the couch, Farf on the windowsill staring out, and Nagi on his laptop. No one else was home, so it was after a momentary pause that Nagi put his computer down and rose to answer the door. It was nearly beat off its hinges in the meantime, and Farf flicked his fingers, a slender, double-edged blade appearing in his palm.

Sabbath yelped suddenly and gripped her head, doubling over so quickly that her forehead smacked into the coffee table. Nagi glanced back in concern and she gasped. "Get the door!"

Now utterly confused, he opened it cautiously… or tried to. It fell in under the weight of a slender boy with raven-black hair, and Nagi grabbed for him just as his companion did, causing them to rap their foreheads together solidly. "OW!' Nagi complained, falling back even as the woman caught her breath and murmured, "Excuse me!" Then she bent to pick up her hyperventilating, dark-haired friend.

Nagi hustled them into the apartment and slammed the door. "Who are you?" he wondered aloud, but Sabbath answered that question for him.

"Katerina? Fell? What happened?"

Katerina, with utter composure, raised ice-blue eyes to meet Sabbath's almost-black ones. "Griss and Jordan are dead," she said calmly. "We found The One. Perhaps you should turn on the local news."

Sabbath froze on the first sentence, a muscle in her jaw standing out even though her face didn't change. When she didn't move for a long moment, Nagi politely helped Fell to the couch and Farfarello slid off the windowsill, crouching to turn on the television.

"…Graphic scene in the West End today, as what appears to be a gas main explosion was followed by a firefight of mythic proportions. Witnesses claim to have seen a creature at least two stories tall and grossly disfigured fighting street gang members. This may sound like an episode of The Twilight Zone, but it is not; behind me, you can see several FBI agents standing around the body of the creature. Was it a grotesque, human experiment? A new weapon of war? A super-soldier? At this time, no explanation is clear. Casualties are high tonight, both of civilians, the two gang members, and the creature itself."

"Griss and Jordan," Fell explained. His voice was tight and it was obvious that he was holding back great pain. Katerina sat down quietly on the couch. "I told them to retreat… they stayed behind… to give us time. We found them, Sab, we found The One…. Sab? SAB!"

"Leave her alone!" Nagi protested. "You just told her two of her friends are dead!"

"Yes," Fell hissed, black eyes narrowing, "And I ALSO just told her that we found the people we've been looking for. We can end this, NOW. We can wipe them out, but not if our witch is catatonic." He glared at Sabbath, hard, and Nagi recognized the look of intense concentration.

Sabbath blinked and made a dull moaning noise, body shaking back and forth as if someone was wringing her neck. It was Fell, though, wringing her mind and forcing her to return to the present.

"Wake up," he growled. "Get it together or we'll ALL die."

She looked irritated and drew in a slow breath, composing herself. Then she glanced at the TV screen. "I'm going." Scarcely had the words left her mouth but she was pulling her leather jacket off the back of a kitchen chair and heading for the door.

"What?" Fell demanded. "Going where? You CAN'T go there, there's cops all over it and The One is nearby. That's a glaring ELEVEN on a one-to-ten scale of high-risk areas, Sab. NO."

"I didn't ask your permission, did I?" She reached for the door handle.

Nagi didn't see a choice. He froze her. "Please, Sabbath, you can't go there," he said quietly, padding over to where she struggled violently to escape his telekinetic hold. "It's dangerous. And you heard the reports; they're dead. You can't help them."

"Let go of me," she growled.

"You have to LISTEN to me first. We can't take risks with your life. We have to get this information to Crawford and find Schuldich and assemble the people we've got and THEN we can chase them, but not just us. Not if they really do have some huge monster-thing."

"Let… me… go!" Sabbath snarled and flailed against his bonds, and Nagi sighed. She was implacable.

X-X-X

Farfarello watched the entire scene in silence, fingering the edge of the blade he'd drawn. He knew these Inconnu and they would not threaten anyone currently under his charge. Not solemn, beautiful Katerina, who's sadness did not show except in the tone of her skin, making her appear a pale ghost seated next to Fell's raging darkness. The black-haired telepath was obviously in a pique but too injured to make much of it. Farfarello's nose detected a slight hint of rot – very specific rot, gangrenous rot. Now, what could have caused that?

He shook his head, padded forward, and tapped Nagi on the shoulder. The boy was trying valiantly to keep this situation under control, but Sabbath was refusing to be placated, and she was as stubborn as stubborn could be. Nothing Nagi said would make a difference. He could either hold her there until doomsday, or give her what she wanted.

"Release her," he instructed the boy. "I will take her."

"Not by yourselves, you won't. If there WAS a creature, that's a biokinetic at work, and one of those almost killed both of you!"

"Then come with us," Farf said flatly. He walked past Nagi and stood in front of Sabbath. "We will call Crawford," he told her, "And then we will go. Satisfactory?"

"… Fine," she ground out reluctantly, and Nagi released his hold on her. She stumbled, but pulled herself together quickly as Farfarello handed Nagi the phone.

Nagi sighed and dialed, and Farfarello eyed Katerina. "Stay here. You will be watched-over," he told them absently, then slipped away to arm himself.

Katerina simply nodded, and Fell glared. "You can't do any good," he spat. "We have to organize an offensive."

Sabbath didn't seem to hear him.

"Leave her alone," Nagi repeated quietly, picking up the cell phone and dialed Crawford's number, only to find that the Oracle had turned off his phone. Sighing, he instead dialed Schuldich. The redhead picked up after about the fourteenth ring, sounding snappish and irritable.

"What?"

"Schu, it's Nagi."

He heard a sigh and then in a duller tone, Schu demanded, "What do you want?"

"I can't get into contact with Brad. I assume he's busy. Two of the Inconnu are here and something big just went down in Bronx. We think two of Sabbath's other friends are dead, but the ones who are here know where The One is. Sabbath is insisting on going to the Bronx to see what happened, and she can't go alone, and I think I should go too, which means somebody needs to be here to keep an eye on the Inconnu and make sure they're safe."

"Crawford's too busy to babysit," Schuldich told him after a moment's pause. He yawned, then groaned. "I guess I'll be there momentarily. They'd better behave themselves, though. My good mood's been spoiled enough."

Nagi refrained from asking what Schu had been doing. "Thank you. We'll probably have left by the time you get here. Sabbath isn't being entirely reasonable, so please hurry." He hung up before Schuldich could berate him for the request and wandered back to the cradle to replace the phone.

Katerina had managed to pry Fell's fingers off of his wound and he was glaring mildly at her as she inspected it. Curious, Nagi took a look as well and curled a lip in disgust. The flesh of Fell's shoulder was black and oozing yellow –gray puss, rotted through like old wood and literally dripping brown ooze. It stank too, and Nagi scrupulously backed away as Katerina pressed her delicate hands to the wound and bowed her head in concentration. "It will scar," she said quietly. "But I think I can repair most of the damage. But we will have to cut the rot away before I can. It won't hurt; the nerves in the rotted flesh are dead already."

"I don't care. Do what you have to."

Katerina nodded and stood. "Forgive my imposition," she said politely to Nagi, who was relieved that SOMEBODY here had some manners. "But is there a cutlery set I could borrow? Or better yet, a medical scalpel?"

Nagi nodded. "I have a first aid kit with some equipment in it… mostly for extracting bullets, but it might be useful. I'll get it for you," he offered.

She nodded. "Domo arigato gozaimasu."

He smiled shyly at her. "Doitashimashite…." Moving off to find the first aid kit, he wondered briefly how many Americans spoke a modicum of Japanese. He brought the kit back and she thanked him, dragging Fell into the kitchen so that clean-up would be easier. He made it most of the way before collapsing on a chair and Nagi assumed from the way he was moving that he had a leg wound. Turning, he met Farfarello just as the Irishman was emerging from his room, casually dressed, with his usual dozen weapons scattered around his torso.

"Let's go," the Irishman said shortly, and Sabbath pushed off of the wall and threw the door open, vanishing into the hall. Nagi wanted to say something polite to the two Inconnu in the kitchen but knew that if he did, he'd lose his escort. So instead, he closed and locked the door and prayed that Schu wouldn't take long to get home.

They took the subway and rode in silence. Sabbath, usually always in some sort of motion, was utterly still. Her eyes were focused on a spot a few feet in front of her face, regardless of what was or wasn't there, and while Nagi was deeply concerned, Farfarello seemed to take it in stride. He was watching her like a hawk, though Nagi didn't know what he expected to happen to her with the two of them there. Or maybe he just wanted to make sure she didn't descend so far into her own mind that she'd never escape. Once they arrived in the proper district and left the subway station, Nagi realized how futile an outing this was. The area was filled with police and the press, cordoned off with yellow tape, and humming with activity. The street was a massive pit at one end of the block, and there were splatters of dried blood across the cement at the other end. Sabbath gravitated toward those, walking faster and faster, and finally breaking into a run. Nagi started to bolt after her, but Farf caught his jacket and stopped him. Following at their own pace, they rounded a car just as she ducked under the yellow tape, drawing the attention of several police officers who called to her to leave the crime scene alone. She ignored them, focused utterly on the debris of a human body pulverized to the point of being unrecognizable – a corpse not yet taken away by the forensics team.

The sight sickened Nagi deeply, and he had seen the remains of some of FARF'S playthings. This wasn't a body, it was… it was a smear of fluids and organs with flies buzzing around it, gleefully feasting on the slowly fermenting carnage. Gore and grime. The skull was crushed and grayish brain matter streaked across a three-foot swipe of asphalt. The torso was missing a large chunk, fragmented rib bones protruding from a mess of organs as the crushed pelvis distorted the frame even further. And the left arm had been torn off just above the elbow. No telling whether this creature had been male or female, until Sabbath fell to her knees in the puddle of gore and let out a feral wail.

"Griss… oh my GODDESS…."

Nagi felt Farfarello go still at his side and he looked up. "Who is it?"

"Someone I respected," was the Irishman's only response, golden eye trained on Sabbath as several police officers moved in and tried to pry Sabbath off the corpse. She wasn't cooperating, huddling in a heap over the body, screaming, sobbing wildly, and beating on the ground with her fists. In other words, she was having a hysterical fit, and Nagi brushed Farf's hand aside and surged forward, pushing through the gathering officials, with his mind when necessary. He sensed, rather than saw, Farfarello on his heels, and they shouldered their way through the group of cops. Nagi was stopped by one policeman who demanded what his business was, and as he was trying to explain to the man that this was his friend and it was her 'brother' smeared across the pavement, Farfarello got to Sabbath, took her by the shoulders, and roughly manhandled her away from the corpse. Blood covered her, along with other, less savory materials, and caked her hands. Those hands curled into fists and pressed against her temples as she screamed from her toes, not a high-pitched girly scream, but a scratchy and full-throated vocalization that managed to rock the entire block's worth of people back on their heels.

Hate. Pain. Rage. Despair. Longing. Devastation. Sadness. Destruction. Violence. Nagi's heart skipped in his chest and he saw Farf sit back, looking mildly drunken as Sabbath's body arched away from his and she screamed again, ending in a choked sob and collapsing into an undignified heap in Farfarello's lap, rubbing the gore on her hands into her face and hair and shaking as she hyperventilated. The police recovered and began to demand that they move, and so Nagi mentally propelled them up, and Farf didn't protest. He gathered Sabbath, who's eyes suddenly snapped open. She kicked, struggled, and slammed a fist into his face.

"NO! JORDAN!" Twisting like a cat, she almost got away from him, but then he dropped her on her hands and hip, reached down, took a handful of her shirt, and slapped her soundly across the face.

The blow knocked her a few feet across the concrete and she curled up, whimpering, fingers tearing hair from her head as they twisted and knotted. Her wails cut straight to Nagi's heart… god, she must be hurting.

It had been a sunny day, but the sky, he realized as he brushed at his skin where goosebumps had just risen, had turned black with clouds.

He didn't see Farfarello picking Sabbath up and carrying her now-compliant body back to the sidewalk, away from the crime zone. He didn't hear himself explaining over and over to the police that the human remains on the sidewalk belonged to Sabbath's 'half-brother', thus her hysterical reaction. He didn't feel the rain as it began to pelt him and wash away the evidence of the crime and the thick, heavy stench of death. He was locked away in some little corner of his mind, hiding from this, while long hours of emulating Crawford took over and he managed to smooth things over with the police. They were suspicious. Of course they were. They asked if they could question Sabbath about her 'brother'. They asked about parents. Nagi made up whatever seemed appropriate and told them they could question Sabbath if and when she calmed down enough to submit to it. He wandered back to Farfarello and found him hidden away in an alley, behind a pile of garbage bags, seated in a puddle and curled around Sabbath, who was still violently weeping. Blood covered his cheek, which was resting against her hair, which he was petting as he spoke to her in rapid, melodic tones. Lost, not really knowing WHAT to do, Nagi carefully sat down on the other side of her on the wet cement and leaned against her back, head on Farfarello's arm.

"I'm sorry," he said, but he didn't think she heard him. He didn't think she was seeing or hearing any better than he was. It continued to storm and all three of them were quickly soaked to the bone, and they just sat there, the three of them, wet and huddled together and locked inside their own minds where there was no help for any of them.

X-X-X


	15. Chapter 15

When Schu got up to open the door for his returning teammates, he had had some time to simmer down and smoke a couple of cigarettes. Fell had his own and now the apartment stank of cigarette smoke, but if the pretty healer minded, she didn't show it. Of course, that block of ice in female form didn't show much of ANYTHING. As for Fell, he was intriguing. Handsome in the extreme, even more beautiful than Cross, but with a biting tongue and the same jaded flash in his black eyes that Schu saw in his own. He was as powerful as Schuldich too, though the German telepath knew exactly why. He had seen it in Fell's eyes the instant they had locked with his.

Psychic vampire.

They weren't particularly rare creatures, but they were, very often, mostly human and not at all dangerous. They were the people who always seemed to have problems, who convinced others to care about their plight and then latched on, literally feasting on the attention until their victim was mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. Needy people, and often enough, their only psychic ability was empathy so mild they didn't know they had it.

Every once in a while though, a powerful one would show up. These creatures didn't occur naturally. The problem was usually their metabolic energy flow, thrown far off-kilter by some incident or another. As a result, their own bodies burned energy too quickly and they were forced to steal other peoples' energy to survive. Though the two kinds of psychic vampire were, in reality, two separate parasites, they carried the same name and most psis referred to the first type simply as "leeches".

Fell was the powerful type. Schu had been feeling his hunger since he'd walked into the apartment and kept his gun nearby, but the telepath made no move toward him, nor toward the blue-eyed Katerina. Instead he sat, playing with the bandage on his mauled shoulder and chain-smoking.

The knock on the door came over an hour after Schu had gotten home, and it had started to rain as he'd bolted up the stairs. He got up and slid his hand into his blazer, gripping the SIG beneath it and peeking through the peephole.

Then he unbolted the door, releasing his gun, and flung it wide to allow Farfarello to carry a quietly crying Sabbath into the apartment, followed closely by Nagi, who was pale as a sheet and looked grim. All three were dripping wet, and there were bits of dried gore matted in Sabbath's hair, though the rain had washed much of it away. They tracked water, dirty water, into the apartment and Schu groaned at the thought of what Crawford would say about it if they didn't manage to clean it up before he got home.

"I suppose there's a decent explanation for this," he said, hand on hip, his other hand still holding the cigarette as his eyes demanded answers from Farfarello.

The madman shrugged and headed for Sabbath's room to put her to bed.

Schu watched them go, turning a baleful gaze and a deadly smirk, somehow combined into one unsettling look, at Nagi. "Well, Naggles?"

"I told you. Two of Sabbath's friends died in the Bronx today. She had to go there, for some reason, so we went there. It started raining. She saw the bodies. There… wasn't much left and now she's in very bad shape."

"I noticed," Schu said with a dry smirk. The girl's thoughts were a jumble of exquisitely dark feelings, all of them sharp and jagged and none of them fitting coherently together. In short, the girl was a wreck and nothing even slightly composed would be coming out of her for at least half a day. They'd incapacitated their witch… wonderful.

"Brad's going to be SO happy when he hears all this," Schu murmured, dragging deeply on his cigarette. "And guess who he's going to take it out on?"

Nagi sighed. "Well, while you waste time pitying yourself when you very well know he'll scold all three of us, I'm going to change." He stumbled toward his room and Schu felt a brief flash of concern. What all had happened out there? Sabbath had killed her own friend earlier, hadn't she? So why was this death hitting her so hard that it'd effectively knocked her into orbit? And why was Nagi so distraught over Sabbath's distress and why was Farf now lying in bed with Sabbath, he noted as he walked past her room where the door was still open, still sopping wet and murmuring to her in Irish?

Schuldich shook his head and closed the door, returning to the living room. Fell looked up at him, his physical pain tainting his features just barely, but mostly under control. "Your psycho has a thing for our Sab," he said casually.

"Well, your Sab has a thing for our psycho," Schu shot back, sitting in the armchair and crossing one leg over the other, slouching back to lounge.

Fell chuckled. "But it's not going to pan out, is it? You're going to screw us over. Don't bother denying it, I can see it."

Schu threw up shields, upper lip pulling back in a sneer, only to be met with Fell's laughter.

"Not in your head. I just… saw it. In you. I can read people as well as minds, you know. It's a skill you might think about developing." His tone turned scornful. "But then again, I suppose Eszet's pets have no need for the kind of paranoia we've cultivated."

Fury flamed in Schuldich for half an instant, but he brushed it aside and grinned wickedly at Fell, leaning slowly forward. "Do you know what Eszet is, Inconnu?" he asked silkily. "It's the Devil trying to play God. You think you have it hard? You have it FREE. Survive Rosenkreuz and then maybe I'll consider taking you seriously." He snickered at Fell's expression and leaned back, exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

"Is that a suggestion or a threat?" Fell inquired, voice as light and sharp as a dancing rapier.

Schuldich laughed. "Now, now," he scolded, "that would be telling."

X-X-X

Farf lay curled protectively around his witch, petting her without really thinking about it, his mind lost along other paths. His witch… yes, his. Fragile, powerful little witch who belonged nowhere but fit into his psych like a missing puzzle piece. Serendipity? If it was, he wouldn't question it. God? Whether it was or not, he'd be vigilant. Sabbath continued to weep. Piece by piece, The One was taking her family away, just as God had taken his away. Except that God had done it in one fell swoop, thus shattering him in a single blow. Sabbath was breaking, piece by piece.

He heard the door close and knew it had been Schuldich. He hadn't heard the man's familiar tread on the carpet outside, but somehow he had registered it, unthinkingly. With the door closed, he felt he had a bit more freedom. Sabbath would recover, he was confident. As he had told Schuldich, she took pain and turned it to rage. But first, she would have to not get sick. So he slid off the bed and picked her up, taking her into the attached bathroom to get her wet clothing off. Methodically, he wrangled the tank top and jeans from her body. Dammit, she looked very nice in tight jeans, but how did she get them ON, never mind off? He would never understand women's clothing. He preferred his clothing to be comfortable first, functional second, and decent-looking third. She was awake enough that she could sit up and move sluggishly to help him with this. He wrapped a towel around her shoulders and turned the bath water on just a notch below hot, eye straying back to her slender frame.

Her skin was flawless. No, wait… there was a tiny brown speck, smaller than a pin head, just below the crease of her elbow. And another about half its size a short distance further down. So, not flawless, but that somehow made it more endearing, those two little specks of color. She had an hourglass figure and a strong, athletic frame. Small and spitfire. Unmarred.

A thousand visions rose in his head. He could carve that skin, draw pictures on it with razorblade lines or a red-hot strip of metal, mark it, make a canvas of it, of her. He could peel her skin back and watch her muscles jump, peek into the workings of her body, twist the toes of those tiny feet until they snapped off….

He reached for her foot and began to finger the second toe, the longest of the five. It was small and slender and the little ball at the tip rolled between his fingers. His fingers tightened. He could squeeze and twist, and it would break….

The other foot suddenly smacked into his wrist. "Stop that," she murmured huskily, eyes puffy and swollen. She sniffled, looking very dull and not-quite-awake.

His hand slid up across the bridge of her foot and closed around her ankle. "You'll become ill if you don't warm up," he told her. "Bath." A single pointed finger got her attention in the right direction.

She nodded. "Yeah. Go…?"

He slipped out, leaving her to her scrubbing and searching down something warm to wear. That rain had been unseasonably cold, almost like sleet. As he stepped into the hallway, he glanced toward the window and wondered. Could a witch's grief disturb the weather?

Shaking his head, he went and locked himself in his own room.

X-X-X

By the time Farfarello emerged, having opted on gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, sleep clothes, Sabbath had stripped the sheets from her bed and replaced them with dry ones. She was in her pajamas and looked a lot less distraught than earlier. He was glad for that; he sat on the bed next to her. She was not under the covers, and he noticed that her grayish pajama pants had black spiders all over them, some marked with little hourglass symbols. The white t-shirt had a chibified spider on the front and said "The Itsy Bitsy Spider"… he had to smile. Sometimes she was just too cute.

"You wanted to hurt me earlier," she said quietly, flatly. "I saw it."

"I'm sorry." He didn't sound much concerned, or remorseful.

"Would you have?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He tilted his head, thinking that over. He wanted to destroy anything else that hurt her. Why hurt her himself? And he had wanted to. He had wanted to very badly. Part of it was his fascination with deconstructing a human body, hearing bones snap and ligaments tear. But part of him had wanted to break a toe, something small and inconsequential, because if he did that she would attack him in a fit of rage. And fending off her sharp little teeth was preferable to seeing her crying and lost. He didn't know how to deal with her, crying and lost.

"I want to hurt everyone," he said simply. "And something in me wanted to make you angry so you would stop crying."

She was quiet for a moment, eyes trained on the ceiling. Then she laughed, a fragile, broken sound. He stiffened. He didn't like this. Sabbath was not weak prey. She should not act like weak prey. She was a powerful witch, a child of the Goddess….

"I'm human, Farf," she whispered, her voice thick as though her tears had congealed there. "I'm all those things, but I'm human too. I loved them. I miss them. But the worst part is that I failed them. I made this deal, I sold my soul to the devil, so that they could survive and be happy. And I never thought we'd all come out of this unscathed – I'm not stupid. But knowing it and seeing it are two different things, you know? You cried when your family died. I KNOW you did! And they're my family and now I'm crying, but it's the same." She drew a deep, shuddering breath and finally looked at him. Her voice was steadier now, and dark as the abyss. "It's the same as you."

"How so?" he asked her seriously, his eye searching hers, trying to read these new emotions he saw there.

Her jaw set and a muscle jumped as her eyes darkened and hardened. "Because now I hate them," she choked. "I'm still sad. I feel like I'm shattering in here." Her fist pressed between her breasts. "But they crossed the line. They made a fatal mistake. I HATE THEM." Now her eyes flashed and her voice was venomous. "And I'm going to destroy them. Every last one. I want to rip them apart now, I want to hear them scream a thousand screams while I send them to hell, I want to SMASH them and in the name of Morrigan, goddess of wronged women and of vengeance, THEY WILL KNOW their destruction when it comes. I don't care what they do to me, I'll tear the last one of them in half before I fall." She was forcing words out through gritted teeth now, shoulders heaving, panting with rage. "And you're going to help me," she snarled.

Farfarello appraised her for a long moment, then smiled. "Is it the right thing to do, to hate so much?" he lilted.

"I don't give a SHIT. I want to HURT them."

His smile widened to a grin. "I love you," he said simply, and watched her eyes widen in shock. "And I will help you. We will all help you hurt The One until the last scream fades into the dust."

She blinked. "Farf…."

"Yes?"

She sighed, deflating somewhat. "You don't love me."

His tone turned dangerous. "I am NOT lying."

"I didn't think you were. But don't… don't love me. God takes away all the ones you love and you're the last person I want to hurt. You're the only person who gets it."

"Gets what?" he inquired innocently.

Brown, almost-black, eyes met his own. "Me."

He chuckled. "You aren't so hard to understand. You're a person, Sabbath Summer. You aren't one of us yet. We are all broken."

"I'll be broken too, before too long," she said, and he let her crawl into his arms and cuddled her. "Will I be one of you then?"

"Perhaps. If you are or not, I doubt that will change anything. You will still be Sabbath. You are possessed of an essential nature."

"Elemental," she said ruefully, and he smirked. 

"You're a Leo, aren't you? You're your own needfire. Even if you go out, you'll re-spark yourself and keep on burning."

She grinned. "Awwww, Farf, that was sweet! And you've been studying." She poked him.

He shrugged. "Witchcraft hurts God."

She eyed him for a moment before he cracked a smirk, and then they both laughed. Long and bitterly, but it was still laughter, and therefore ten times better than the tears.

X-X-X

Outrage was a voracious beast. It needed to be fed or it would lose its strength. Farfarello knew this to be true as he watched Sabbath in the two days that followed. Crawford helped to organize their offensive, as a few animal-empaths among the Inconnu sent spies into the depths of The One's territory. Most of those spies never returned, but some did, and from them, they learned that they had found the wrist of an arm that stretched for miles beneath the city, into deeper and deeper levels of the sewers, away from all human interference. Amazing how The One resided in the sewers and yet no grime ever clung to their clothing, nor the stench, but it was not noteworthy. Things were hectic as they scrambled to and fro, organizing, planning, hashing and rehashing details, drawing maps and exchanging information. And Sabbath worked with the fury of a woman possessed, dragging Farfarello AND Nagi along on a few more shopping trips. Her aims had become more complex now. They could only hope she had the strength to accomplish them all.

But in the midst of this frantic cacophony came a call: Takatori was no longer pleased with one of his employees. He had found this man to be responsible for some of the failings at two of the corporations, and for collaborating with some of his competitors. He wanted Schwarz to teach the man a lesson he would never forget.

An assassination was a welcome diversion from their other plans, Schuldich thought as he boredly looked over the file on their target. Nothing special… get in, kill the man, get out. Except that fool, Takatori, couldn't leave things lie. He had threatened the man and the target was taking measures to protect himself, surrounding himself with bodyguards and the like. Nothing Schu by himself couldn't handle, but even though Crawford hadn't seen a need for all of Schwarz to participate, he'd instructed Schu to take Farfarello along.

Schuldich was looking forward to it. Farfarello was really his preferred partner… brain and brawn respectively, but they both possessed good quantities of each, thus balancing and complimenting each other. The target was scheduled to be moved into the building of one of the competitors tonight, and that would be the perfect time to strike – in transit. Schuldich was busy cleaning his firearms, Farfarello his knives. Sabbath was locked in her room doing something that apparently involved stomping on the floor every so often, and a little bit of chanting. Nagi and Crawford were both out, having been conscripted into going with Takatori to put on a show of power for his other employees at the meeting tonight. When news came of the target's death, his other company heads would be properly chastised and fall into place, or that was the plan at least.

Schuldich took the opportunity to talk to Farfarello, who was curled up in the couch corner, digging the tip of one of his knives into his forearm and making soft crooning noises under his breath.

"You know, sometimes I think you're really losing it," he said casually, sighting down the barrel of his gun. He sighted it at Farfarello's head, not that the Irishman took any notice.

"Coming from you, that's amusing," Farf replied, fingers twitching.

"DON'T," Schu snapped just before he knew the madman was about to dig the blade into his own arm. "You'll get hurt plenty later, remember? No sense wasting the blood now."

Nodding, Farfarello put the knife down and trained that single golden eye on Schuldich. "According to all of my files, I have already 'lost it'. What does it matter if I sink further into insanity?"

"It matters to us," Schuldich sneered. "We have to work with you. And that's going to get annoying REALLY quick if you turn into a love-obsessed pile of mush."

"I know," he said flatly. "God waits to be given something with which he can hurt me. He offers gifts so that he can snatch them away. But I do not think this is part of his plot. Sabbath is not manipulated by him and neither am I."

"She's canon fodder," Schu reminded him. "And we aren't staying in America forever. If you're going to fuck her, fuck her, but don't get yourself wrapped up in this 'love' business. It's not worth it in the long run… believe me, I know." He removed the remains of a spent cigarette from his mouth and dropped it in the ash tray. "Love is poison, Farf. It'll bring you down and screw you over. Stick with hate… at least hate has a purpose."

"I have not forgotten my purpose," Farfarello said coldly. "Do not believe that my hatred ebbs just because I have decided to love as well."

Schuldich just laughed. Tossed his head back, flame-colored hair spreading against the printed upholstery, and laughed. "Oh, Farf…" he managed when his amusement faded somewhat. "Baka. You can't love. You're too broken, just like me, just like Crawford. Cold shells, all of us. Power and wickedness are all we have left, and the capacity to enjoy what we do. You're a killer; you don't deserve love or happiness. None of us do and that's how we LIKE it, remember? We're the darkness, we're the shadows, we're the bloodstains in everyone's past and future."

Farfarello shook his head. "It is not the love of God. It is the love of mankind. There is nothing about it that is holy or pure. It hurts Him just by being… between two blasphemous, prodigal children, it offends Him even more. He weeps for me, to see me drawn into the witch's coils. And He weeps for her, for the loss of one who SHOULD have been his, submitting to the hands which have destroyed so many of His treasured ones. It is blasphemy, this thing, and so it is beautiful and ugly and real, and you will not convince me that it is a lie."

"All right," Schu said disdainfully. "Fine. You love her. I won't challenge that. But how about THIS: If you fall for her, your usefulness to Schwarz is OVER and Crawford will either put a bullet in your head personally or ask me to do it. And I don't want to do that, Jei."

"I'm not Jei," came the answering snarl.

"Whatever. You're you, and I'm me, and the me that I am doesn't want to kill the you that you are, got me? When this is over, we're leaving. We're going back to Japan. Don't you dare put up a fuss or I won't be able to protect you, and then Eszet will have taken YOU away from HER. At least this way, it's just dumb luck… circumstance, not God's hand. But if you force Crawford to kill you, you'd better believe that Eszet's yanking his trigger finger. And you can't hurt Eszet after you're dead," he said meaningfully. "You have to be patient."

Farfarello stilled and considered this. Schuldich was right, after all… they had plans for the future. Plans that had to be carried out before any of them had a chance to live their own lives. If he wanted the freedom to pursue God to the edges of the universe and back, if he wanted the freedom to spit in God's face with his life, he had to temper himself now so that when the time came, there would be nothing entangling him, nothing forcing him to deny his destiny.

"I understand," he said, and Schuldich sat back, smirking in satisfaction. He looked away before his insane, but comprehensive, partner could see the glitter of sadness in his lapis-blue eyes. He knew what Crawford had wisely decided to keep from Farfarello and Nagi; Eszet would, indeed, betray the Inconnu. And though Crawford had said nothing about her, Schuldich did not believe Sabbath would survive the encounter. After all, he knew she would fight to the death for her friends. He had seen her rage and it would not be quenched until she was dead or her enemies were.

So really, he was just trying to help his teammate. Farfarello might have been crazy, but he was also incredibly intelligent, perceptive, and oddly wise when the mood struck him. He got lost in the world inside himself, while Schuldich got lost in the world outside. In all honesty, Schu finally admitted to himself that he didn't want to share the psychopath. They had a bond that would change greatly if Farfarello's affections awakened to Sabbath, and Schuldich did not like change. Not in his friends and teammates, the only family he'd had since his mother had left him at Rosenkreuz.

Farfarello was silence, simplicity at its best, everything Schuldich needed to escape from himself sometimes. And he didn't want to lose it.

Didn't want to lose him.

X-X-X

Sabbath stared at the small box in the palm of her hand, about the size of a jewelry box and carved of quartz crystal. The sides and hinged top were thin. It was almost delicate, and Sabbath let out a sigh as she shut the lid and latched it. There was nothing physical inside the box except for a few drops of her blood, and what little bit of Griss she had been able to rescue from under her nails and between her fingers, but to the witch, it practically shone with energy seething angry and red inside it. This was her first infusion. She would not open the box again for the others. Instead, she would send the energy into the box through the closed lid… the quartz was an excellent conduit for magickal energy. She sighed, setting the box on her altar and picking up her paint. On each side of the box, in deep blood red, she painted the rune Thurisaz, the thorn. On the lid, she painted the rune Kenaz, which stood for both the element of fire and an opening. Dealing with Griss's spirit had been torturous, and not because he was unwilling to cooperate; on the contrary, he'd been very cooperative, and the energy inside the box was filled with his protective fury. Jordan was nowhere to be found, and Sabbath could only assume that her friend had gone off toward the light. It was well… Jordan's family had preceded her beyond The Veil and were most likely waiting to take her home. Griss's family was still alive, though very estranged. On The Other Side, he was alone.

Not anymore, though. Now, he was contained in this box, having literally given up all the energy that had been holding him where he was to their cause. And then he had vanished, off to the Summerlands, Sabbath hoped. She had wanted to cry, but she had not. The time for weeping was over. It was a time for retribution now, and as she cast her circle, invoking all the darkest goddesses, she knew her patrons agreed with her.

"Morrigan," she chanted as she sprinkled salt on the quartz box, consecrating it with the elements. "Hecate. Kali. Freya. Anath. Sehkmet. Hear me, your warrior daughter invokes thee. Power I would have from thee, power to punish those who threaten your chosen! Morrigan, goddess of vengeance and wronged women, hear me! Hecate, goddess of the crossroads and of all witcheries, guide me! Kali, goddess of destruction, my own dark mother, aid me! Freya, mistress of the runes, warrior goddess, strengthen me! Anath, goddess of war, goddess of rage and death, strengthen my anger! Sehkmet, goddess of war, predators, and protection, defend me! I invoke thee all, and invoke thy power. I will give you blood in sacrifice. I will give you anything you demand. Only give me my vengeance. Give me power."

Most witches in their right minds would never ask for such a thing. Wicca was a gentle religion and dark desires such as these went against everything it stood for. But Sabbath couldn't bring herself to care.

These, she told herself, are extenuating circumstances. Desperate measures are called for, or hundreds will die. And if it takes everything I have to give us a fighting chance, I gladly give it. My soul is clean, my Goddess. Shirk not your justice.

She sighed and flicked drops of holy water onto the box, then passed a candle over it, before picking it up and swiping it through the smoke that coiled lazily upward from the stick of incense she had burning. And then, with a sigh, she gave up. She put the quartz box into a wooden box lined with velvet, for safekeeping, and painted the rune Nauthiz (constraint, movement in neither direction) on every facet of the box, including the lid. It would keep the energies inside, and all corrupting influences out. Satisfied, she left the box and went to take a cleansing shower. She was drained, as well she should be; all of her rage and all of her energy had gone into that little box. All her sadness was there, and all her pain. And now she had nothing left in her except weariness, and she showered quickly, crawling back into bed and curling up with a stuffed cat. She needed more energy for her magickal grenade, but she didn't know where she could find it. If more of her friends died at the hands of The One, their spirits might help her, but she didn't want that to happen. She had a few vague ideas about putting curse after curse after curse on The One and storing the physical components inside the box. If she could only think of a method, she could turn the considerable might of the runes against The Collective, but she couldn't determine a suitable carrier for those energies except for more verbal curses.

She sighed again. She would do what she could, but she'd need so much power, so much power she didn't have….

Feeling like she was already defeated, Sabbath snuggled down into the bed and closed her eyes.

X-X-X


	16. Chapter 16

Schuldich liked working with Farfarello. The Irishman was focused, efficient, and mentally quiet. The population of New York City battered at his shields but he brushed the voices aside with the aid of long practice and concentrated on the target at hand. The man had surrounded himself with bodyguards, but he had not involved the police. A wise decision, since the police would only have been more bodies for the undertaker to remove later. Schuldich brushed against the mental connection he had established with Farfarello and received an amused affirmation from the Irishman. He was waiting on the roof for Schuldich's signal. Down in the lobby, lounging on the couch, Schuldich let his head fall back and expanded his mental awareness, searching for this man, the one their employer wanted dead.

Christopher Jarris was his name, and he was a sly, manipulative bastard who thought he would be able to pull the wool over Reiji Takatori's eyes regarding his subtle attempts to take greater control over this branch of the company. Of course, there was no fooling Takatori when there was a telepath working for him. Schuldich's features melted into a satisfied smirk as he searched through the building, hunting for that single mind, that single name.

He found it on the fortieth floor, in the middle of a conference. Hm, he would prefer this to be a clean assassination. Better to wait until the man was out of the meeting. Scanning the minds present, he realized that the meeting wouldn't be over for another two hours at least. He didn't particularly feel like waiting that long, so he worked his magic over those minds subtly, making several of them desperately thirsty, one of them want to call his wife, and a couple of them, the target included, need to go to the bathroom. In the target's mind, he slipped the suggestion that now might be a good time for a break.

He didn't have to wait long. In the meantime, he filled Farfarello in on the target's location and started upstairs himself, taking the elevator. Nobody noticed the tall, fiery-haired German walking past the front desk, past the security, past the secretary. They did not notice because he didn't want them to notice. To them, he did not exist.

Telepathy could be one hell of a formidable Gift.

He monitored the progress of the meeting as he rode the elevator upward, filling Farfarello in on the target's location and the circumstances under which he would encounter the man. He felt Farfarello pause for a split instant and then spring from his position, moving with deadly focus down through the skeleton of the building, through air ducts and abandoned hallways until he was on the fortieth floor and creeping through the shadows toward the bathrooms. In the amount of time it took the Irishman to do that, Schuldich made the fortieth floor himself. The elevator dinged and he stepped out into the clean, carpeted hallway. It was efficiently decorated in light pastels that relaxed the eye. Schuldich sneered at it as he moved toward the bathroom area, hands in the pockets of his forest-green overcoat, shiny black shoes silent on the thin carpet. His mind guided him, but it was also with Christopher Jarris as the man moved quickly toward his private bathroom with the desperate need to urinate, and with Jarris's friends as they dispersed to various locations, and with Farfarello as he slipped into the private office and melted into the shadows, waiting there. The target was entirely clueless, and Schuldich smiled.

Go ahead, he instructed Farfarello. Enjoy yourself. I'll cover you.

He felt a wash of insane glee and paused, laying a hand on the wall for support as it rocked him back on his heels. He allowed himself to bask in it for a long moment, feeling it intensely as Farfarello moved in on the target, fingering a knife. He cast another mental scan around and smirked as he found each conference member, scattered around that floor, none of them near Jarris' private office. And then the smirk faded. There was someone there… two someones… and one was a QUIET MIND….

Farfarello! he called as he broke into a run. Stop! Abort mission! Abort mission, it's a trap!

He felt Farfarello's momentary surprise, felt the rise of the killer inside the psychopath's mind as, in the office just outside the bathroom door, Farfarello stopped and slowly straightened, casting his senses out, breathing deeply as he tried to use his own, purely human senses to detect any intrusion. Blackness, evil, coiled deep in his mind and then welled up and Schuldich withdrew to a safe psychic distance before Farfarello's bloodlust could overwhelm him.

X-X-X

Farfarello's single golden eye traced slowly over the room, exploring the shadows, any darkness that might hide an enemy. No one was in the room with him. He was confident of that. But outside the room….

His other hand found another knife, a long one, as he switched the one in his right hand for one of equal length. Wickedly curved, serrated, and razor-sharp, they were almost short swords with slender blades. He fell into a ready position, tense, breathing through clenched teeth, eye wide and pupil a single pinprick of darkness in those golden depths. Bloodlust was written in his entire frame, in every taunt muscle.

The window exploded inward, shattered by two dark, human-sized forms that hurtled through it. Farfarello took two steps back, placing his back solidly against the wall. One of them was about six feet tall, with sunset-red hair and a sly expression, dressed in black cargo pants, boots, and a black overcoat with a thick red crucifix design on the front. Farf felt his blood boil. The other wore black as well, pants and a sleeveless, high-necked shirt, gloves, and a mask that covered the lower half of his face. His hair was spiky and blonde, held back with a black band, and his eyes were hard and blue. Both men held swords, the redhead a longsword and the blonde a positively MASSIVE greatsword.

Schuldich wasn't giving him orders. Schuldich had withdrawn from his mind, leaving Farfarello alone. He eyed the two of them briefly. Kritiker? It seemed likely. The door was to his right, only a couple feet. He held the knives up in defense and inched toward it, but just then, the bathroom door opened and the target strode out.

"What is going on?" the man demanded, and a red haze rose over Farfarello's vision.

Neutralize the target. Neutralize the target. Neutralize the target.

KILL HIM! Schuldich's voice was frantic. I'll handle those two, you kill the target and get the hell out of here, Farf!

Farfarello didn't hesitate. He sprang toward the target even as Schuldich reached out and slowed the two Kritiker agents' perceptions, making it look to them like Farf was moving at super speed. He slashed the two knives across the target, slicing him at the throat and stomach, and kept moving even as the blonde came down, swinging that mighty sword with rather amazing speed even though Schuldich was slowing him down and cleaving the body in half as Farf dropped under the swing and scrambled on all fours toward the shattered window.

The blonde pulled around, continuing his swing and using the momentum to leap toward Farf. The sword came around and slammed into the ground even as Farfarello skidded to a stop and threw himself into a side roll as the heavy blade cleaved through the carpet and floor structure and the blonde's body continued its momentum, landing on the opposite side of the sword even as Farf tried a different route to the window.

Through all this, the redhead stood, hand on the hilt of his longsword, watching the door. Waiting.

The blonde tore his sword free from the floor and dragged it under, snapping it up across Farf's body. Farf fell backward, the knife lying along his forearm held underhand, striking the underside of the blonde's sword with the blade and knocking it somewhat off-strike. That left him grossly off-balance as the blonde continued the motion, twisting around and lashing out with his foot. Farf tried to roll even further back and strike out with a booted foot, but the blonde's foot connected solidly with his chest and sent him skidding backward and tumbling. Farfarello hissed and twisted, catlike, scrambling to his feet. He'd try once more, but he was beginning to forget his order to flee. He wanted to hurt something, and it wasn't in his nature to run from a confrontation. The blonde was between him and the window, blocking his escape, and he backed up slowly, placing his back against the wall again. That baleful pinprick of darkness in a mad golden sea pinpointed his enemy, and a sliver of tongue ran slowly across his lips.

"Kritiker," he said quietly, mouth twisting into a grin. "God's wolves… hunting the dark beasts to protect His flock…."

The blonde paused, threw his head back, and laughed, which confused Farfarello. "Not Kritiker?" he tried again.

"Hired by Kritiker, just enjoying myself," the blonde told him, readjusting his grip on the greatsword.

Farfarello considered that for a moment, then smirked. "It doesn't matter. You do God's work. Come, send me to his arms! Bring me face to face with my enemy!" He was laughing quietly, madly, slowly stepping along the wall and trying to maneuver himself into a better position.

The blonde brought that massive sword around and Farfarello managed to duck and throw himself into a forward roll just before the blade tore through plaster and wood, carving a thick gash in the wall. He came up on one knee, whirling and slashing both knives across the backs of the blonde's legs, looking to hamstring him. But the blonde wasn't there when the twin blades arrived, and when Farf twisted back to his feet and looked up, the blonde was on his feet, standing off to the side with the sword at ready. Despite the mask, it was fairly obvious that he was smirking.

"You laugh," Farfarello muttered, sliding his fingers into his vest and coming free with several better-balanced knives. He leaped backward and onto the desk, crouching and flinging a half dozen blades in the blonde's direction. He was too fast though, sidestepping cleanly and moving in on Farfarello, forcing him to back-somersault off the desk before the sword smashed it into kindling. With the sword down, Farfarello flung himself at his opponent, letting out a war-whoop as his original two blades reached out, hungry for the blonde's flesh.

The blonde twisted the blade so that the flat of it was facing Farfarello and levered the sword up. The blade was taller than the man himself and Farf's eye widened as he barely managed to get his knees and feet up and under him. His boots hit the blade and slipped off around it and he slammed into the flat of the sword, dropping to the floor in a tangled heap.

Toying with him. The blonde swordsman was TOYING with him. Farfarello let out a scream of rage as he tried to get back to his feet, throwing himself at the blonde, all strategy forgotten. The blonde pulled the blade free as Farf got his feet under him and stepped back, bringing the sword around his head. Farf closed the distance between them, knife slashing through the blonde's shirt and drawing a thick line of blood just before the blade – again, just the flat of the sword – slammed into his shoulder and sent him flying across the room. The carpet tore layers of skin from him as he skidded across it and he felt the peculiar shifting under his skin that meant broken ribs. His arm had not broken, and he tightened his grip on the knife and took two running steps, hurtling toward the swordsman again, screaming his rage as his muscles tensed, anticipating metal through flesh, splatters of blood, the snapping of bones.

"I liked this shirt," the blonde told him evenly, gripping the sword's pommel and bringing it up and across. It slammed into Farf's side, knocking him cleanly out of the air. He smacked into the wall, leaving a hole in the plaster the shape of his body, and crumpled to the floor. For a moment, everything was still.

The blonde was no idiot. He waited patiently, sword at the ready.

The pile of plaster shifted and swelled as Farfarello picked himself up, staggering slightly as he found his balance. He was panting, breathing gutturally, bleeding from numerable places. His body seemed to hang unnaturally, like a puppet with several cut strings. A trickle of blood trailed from his lips, down the line of the scar on his chin. His tongue flicked out and lapped it up.

The blonde didn't move, except to glance at the redhead and raise an eyebrow. The redhead nodded toward the door just as it was flung open and a green and flame-orange blur burst in. At that same moment, Farfarello snarled and rushed the blonde in a full tackle. The sword came up and around, but this time Farfarello leaped over the swing that had been intended for his pelvis, and one boot touched down on the edge of the blade as he slammed into the blonde's chest and latched on, nails tearing into the blonde's skin. His knives had been knocked from his hands at some point, though he surely had more, but now he latched his teeth into the blonde's shoulder and tore, seeking blood.

The blonde was unbelievably strong. Stronger than Farfarello, and Farf was potent for his slim frame. His fingers knotted in Farfarello's hair and he gave the flustered Schuldich an annoyed look before tearing Farfarello from his body (and losing a chunk of his own shoulder at the same time) and almost casually tossing the Irishman at the telepath. Schu slid aside and Farfarello hit the doorframe and slumped momentarily.

Schuldich wasn't paying attention. His eyes were fixed on the redhead. "Cross," he said slowly, a dangerous smirk spreading across his face.

The redhead nodded quietly, a slightly sheepish smile gracing his handsome features. "I'm afraid so," he said lightly. "Nothing personal, but we were hoping to get here before there was a death…." He glanced at the corpse.

Schuldich eyed the corpse also and sneered, one hand clamping on Farfarello's hair as the maniac tried to get to his feet again. "Well, you failed," he noted. "So what's the point of continuing this farce? You've already lost."

"I wouldn't consider this particular situation 'losing'," the blonde, Calan, pointed out smugly.

Schuldich shrugged. Get out of here, Farf, he commanded, and was met with a curtain of bloody rage in response. Curling his upper lip slightly, he bore down on Farf's mind, searching for a hold in the mind of the elusive psychopath. But there was no curbing that rage, so he tried to redirect it. God's children await your justice down the hall. The conference members, Farf. Kill them. Hurt God.

It wasn't working. Farfarello's fingers curled around Schuldich's wrist and squeezed, grinding the bones together. It hurt like hell, but Schu kept the pain from his face. "Fine. You beat the hell out of an insane man. Congratulations," he sneered. "And YOU, Kreuz… how the HELL did you pull this off, if I may ask? I searched your mind. I found nothing."

Cross smiled at him. "You were expecting shields. But I don't shield, Schuldich. I veil."

Understanding hit Schuldich like a freight train and he threw his head back to laugh. "Oh, how rich," he crooned, eyeing Cross and smirking lustily. "But don't you know it's unprofessional to mix business and pleasure?"

Calan snorted and sheathed his sword, and Farfarello lunged toward him, but Schuldich was faster, catching the scruff of Farf's shirt and hauling him back.

Cross chuckled. "Who said I'm mixing anything? Fight today, fuck tomorrow, fight tomorrow, fuck the next day…. It can be a good pattern." He grinned rakishly.

Schuldich laughed. Kitten has claws of his own, he mused to himself, smirking wickedly at Cross as the other redhead faced him, entirely ready and yet entirely at ease, his mind still blessedly quiet as he watched Schuldich and waited for his reaction, a warm smile teasing at his lips.

Schuldich flicked a strand of hair back from his face. "I didn't realize Kritiker could afford guys like you," he said quietly, his voice a silken caress.

Calan laughed. "Normally, they can't. I guess they've been saving up. Though actually, since we're not planning on killing any of you in the nearby future, this is something of a freebie."

Schuldich's smirk was deadly. "Never plan when it comes to Schwarz. You'll lose."

"Hard for us to lose when you don't even know what we're fighting for," Cross said pointedly.

"You're fighting for the second-rate enemy." The German sounded amused. "You could do a lot better, you know. I'm sure Eszet could pay you more."

Cross just laughed, and so did Calan, at the very idea of that.

"Can you blame me for trying?" Schuldich asked dryly.

Cross snorted. "Actually, yes, seeing as you're not exactly loyal Eszet yourself." His black eyes turned serious and he glanced at Calan. "Schu, if we thought you were actually devout Eszet members, we would have killed you already."

"You'd have tried, that is," Schu offered amusedly, declining to mention just how much Schwarz really was Eszet's dogs.

Cross smiled at him. "We would have done it. Kritiker doesn't officially believe in psychic powers, but we know better... and we're better than Weiß. MUCH better. But I don't think that's necessary, do you? First, I don't particularly want to kill you, and second, that would truly spoil the fun of fighting you under fairer odds."

Calan smirked, mentally going, Ohhhh, diss.

Farfarello snarled and made another attempt to lunge at Calan. "A little self-confident, are we now, Kreuz?" Schu chuckled, not letting go of Farfarello despite the pain in his wrist. I know you can insult us more creatively than that... he sent to both of the Kritiker agents.

"If insulting you was my goal, I could," Cross told him honestly as Calan just shook out his blonde hair and smirked beneath the mask that covered the lower half of his face. "But it isn't. Our goals are... different. And tonight, we got what we came for." He turned and headed for the shattered window across the office from Schu.

"See you soon, Kreuz," Schuldich smirked. This was nowhere near over. Not in the least.

Cross broke into a grin. "I look forward to it," he said, adding sexy, onto the end of it. "By the way, for future reference... when we're in uniform, you can call us Schwert."

Schuldich quirked an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth twitching up as well. Sword. It fit them all too well. "Ja... der Kreuz schwert. Schwert, rot…." Cross was intriguing, all right. He could hide things from Schu, was brilliant in the sack, and had far too optimistic a viewpoint to survive as long as he apparently had. All in all, it made for a puzzle that Schu found himself wanting to unravel. Right along with that form-fitting jacket that so beautifully showcased his frame….

Cross laughed and tossed off a jaunty wave, vanishing out the fortieth story window with the tall, muscled blonde close behind him and leaving Schuldich and Farfarello in the empty office with the corpse of Christopher Jarris.

"You would not let me kill him," Farfarello snarled.

"You couldn't have killed him," Schuldich said dryly, gazing hard at the shattered window. "They're good. Too good…. We have to get home. Crawford needs to hear about this," he said harshly, hauling Farfarello off the carpet and heading back toward the elevator.

Farfarello cooperated with him, which would have vaguely surprised Schuldich if he'd been paying an ounce of attention. But his mind was in turmoil. Cross was Kritiker and he HADN'T KNOWN. He had been inside the redhead's mind and he hadn't SEEN. He, a telepath whose power was unmatched, save among the Elders themselves! How had it happened? Cross didn't shield, he veiled. He didn't shield, he veiled. He didn't shield, he veiled…. Those damning words repeated themselves over and over in his head.

He shoved Farfarello into the elevator and jabbed the button sharply, mouth drawn into a thin, sharp line. He thought back to Cross, wearing that jacket that hung to his thighs, almost like a tunic, black with the thick red cross on the front, dark, like the color of his hair, like the color of blood. And he realized that, for the very first time, he had been cleanly and thoroughly tricked.

Schwert had bested Schwarz. No one else had ever managed that… and Schwert had only two members to draw upon. Obviously, they weren't typical Kritiker agents, but then, Schuldich had known that the instant he'd had a badly beaten Farfarello tossed at his feet. Farf was fast, strong, and a skilled fighter, but Calan was obviously better. And Cross….

And Cross….

Cross. Gods but he was beautiful. Intelligent. Skilled. Amusing. Devil-may-care. He had a strong, active conscience. He was an idealist and a realist.

Since we're not planning on killing any of you in the nearby future….. I don't particularly want to kill you…

He rubbed his temples as he tried to organize his thoughts and, after a brief struggle, succeeded. They would be seeing Schwert again, of that he had no doubt. But how would that encounter go? Would they fight each other passionately, like Weiß and Schwarz? Or would they meet and greet, laugh and jibe, and agree once again to part on peaceful terms? Of course, this wasn't exactly peaceful. For the first time, Schuldich took a good look at Farf. His eyes flicked down, across the madman's body, tallying the damage.

Extensive, but not life-threatening. Calan had beaten him with the flat of the sword, bruising him badly and breaking a couple bones. But he would heal quickly, and the ribs could be set without much trouble. Crawford would be irritated, but nobody had seen the two of them so far except the two Kritiker agents and… somehow… Schuldich didn't see them turning Schwarz in to the authorities. The elevator reached the ground floor and Schuldich and Farfarello stepped out, Farfarello walking fairly steadily since his legs weren't injured aside from a twisted ankle he didn't even feel. Schuldich clouded the minds around them, made them invisible, and they made it outside and to their car without incident.

Farf climbed in, uncomplaining as usual, and Schuldich slammed his door, lighting a cigarette and dragging deeply on it as he took a moment to settle himself before twisting the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life and he put the vehicle in gear, breaking a dozen traffic laws and leaving two wrecks behind him as he fled to their apartment.

X-X-X

Crawford was up and waiting for them when Schuldich and a very battered Farfarello swept into the apartment. "You encountered difficulties," he said, and it was not a question.

Schuldich flicked a cigarette butt at him. "No shit, Sherlock," he sneered.

Crawford brushed the piece of paper and filter away from him and straightened his glasses. "I didn't See much. Tell me everything."

Schuldich sighed. "Before or after I patch Farfie back together?"

The Irishman growled. "Don't call me Farfie."

"Nagi will do it."

"Little squirt's awake? It's fucking late," Schuldich observed skeptically.

"I'm awake," Sabbath said, padding into the kitchen in pajamas and house shoes. She was wearing her spider pajamas again, and the sight made Farfarello smirk. "And I'll do it. I've taken some classes."

Crawford nodded and waved the two of them away, and they settled on the coffee table to take care of wrapping Farfarello's ribs as Schuldich sat down across from Crawford and lit another cigarette. He chain-smoked as he related events, piece by piece, and Crawford listened in silence. Finally, Schuldich finished and Crawford sat back, glancing over to the living room, where Sabbath had managed to bandage Farf's wounds and now had her hands on him and was…. Praying?

"Schwert," he said quietly. "You're friendly with the redhead. Cross."

"We've fucked each other silly, if that's what you mean," Schu said, smirking.

Crawford gave him a reproachful look. "You've slept with him, but you didn't know he was Kritiker?"

Schuldich waved a hand, looking unconcerned. "I didn't encounter any shielding. I didn't anticipate that he might be one of the 1 of the population that can veil. Either way, I'm not in danger from him. He doesn't want me dead."

"Yes, I'm aware," Crawford told him. "As a matter of fact, I've had the pleasure of Calan's acquaintance already."

Schuldich blinked. "The blonde with the sword straight out of 'Berserk'?"

Crawford smirked slightly and nodded. "He's quite the swordsman. I'm not surprised that Farfarello failed miserably against him. He beat me in three out of three fencing matches."

"And that must hurt for you to admit," Schuldich jabbed. "So, what do they want?"

"You're the telepath, Schuldich. Why don't you tell me?"

Schuldich let out an irritated sound. "Calan has very strong shields and Cross… Cross has this maddening ability to choose what he thinks about. I couldn't get it out of either of them. They're not pushovers, Crawford. Slowing Calan's perceptions successfully took so much out of me that I couldn't even walk while I was doing it, which is why I had to give it up. They're VERY strong-willed, especially for non-psis."

"In other words," Crawford said quietly, "You think they're out of our league."

Schuldich raised his head. "They know," he said quietly, and then switched to mental communication. They know about the ritual Eszet has planned… and they know we plan to disrupt it.

Crawford's eyes widened slightly as his shields cracked just slightly to reply, How could they know? Kritiker is completely in the dark.

There's a lot that they know that Kritiker doesn't know, Brad. For instance, they believe in psychic powers, whereas Kritiker usually files the issue under 'fraud'. And I don't think they're common Kritiker stock. They don't seem overly concerned with the successful completion of their mission, which is to assassinate US.

I've determined that much, the Oracle replied, sitting back in his chair and looking thoughtful. Well.

WELL? Well WHAT? Where do we go from here, Bradley? Reassure me that we're not running blind. Schuldich's eyes were hard.

The Oracle shrugged. If they are not going to kill us, and the target is dead, we have nothing to worry about. You did your job and came out of it… mostly intact. His eyes flicked toward Farf, who was watching Sabbath in silent interest as her lips moved rapidly, but no sound emerged. As for Schwert, I don't believe we have much to fear from them despite their obvious skill. They're about as loyal to Kritiker as we are to Eszet. He smirked knowingly at Schuldich and the telepath returned the smile.

So in other words, we ignore them, Schuldich returned skeptically. They won't go away.

No, of course they won't. But they might prove useful. So keep an eye out.

"Done," Schuldich said quietly, stretching and standing. "Tell me there's some coffee around here. I'm in withdrawal."

Crawford shrugged and Schu wandered over to the coffeepot as the Oracle stood and headed into the living room.

"How badly are you damaged?" he asked Farfarello clinically.

The Irishman shrugged. "Fractured ribs, already set. Twisted ankle, already splinted. It's all healing – even God's children can not circumvent his gifts to me."

He nodded and eyed Sabbath. "And your work?"

"Slow. I need more energy." She shook her head. "LOTS more. We're talking…. What I have is a campfire. What I need is a nuclear reactor."

"And how do you plan to get it?" he inquired politely.

She sighed and looked up at him. "I have no idea. I'm not a professional, Crawford. I'm Solitary Eclectic. I've never even worked with a coven. I'm taking all this out of books and hoping to hell I can manage it, and so far, I'm not doing a very good job, okay? But I'll keep working on it."

He graciously did not pursue it. "Of course. Thank you." He retreated into his own room and Sabbath watched him go, watched the door until it swung shut.

"How will you get it, that much power?" Farfarello inquired innocently as she taped a pad over his much-bruised arm.

"I have some ideas," she told him. "We'll see if they work."

He put a hand on her head. "You are tired," he said quietly. "You have been working very hard."

"Not that hard," she told him with a sigh, rubbing her face. "I've been pouring all my energy into that little box and not leaving much for myself. So I'm tired and cranky and stuff. Gomen nasai."

He smirked and petted her hair. "Souka, Sabbath-chan. Can you take that energy from other people?"

"I could, but everyone I could take it from needs all their energy to combat The Collective as well."

"Your friend Catria…"

"My sister. Witches are sisters."

He smirked slightly. "Your sister. She took energy from me to heal you. I am none the worse for wear."

"You were also in a blind rage," Sabbath said dryly, sitting back slowly as she let out a sigh. "And you're not right now, and I don't want you to voluntarily enter one." She picked at one of the spiders on her pajamas, at the hourglass symbol on its back. "I'll have to go higher."

"Go higher?" That single golden eye burned her when she looked into it, and she hiked an eyebrow. What did she think she was doing, trusting a tiger trapped in a man's body by the tail?

"Drawn down the moon," she said quietly. Even as she said it, she remembered the one time she'd seen it done… the awe, the fear, the joy, the sheer unbelievable POWER in the hands of one woman, the incarnation of the Goddess herself. Could she, a mere Maiden, handle that? The ritual was often (wisely) reserved for Mothers and Crones. She'd be a conduit for something so much more powerful than she was, and something that was also dangerous, because there was no question about who she would channel, and Kali was no pushover. Kali was equal to Shiva, had, in fact, raped him in many mythologies and was often depicted dancing on his ravished body. The great Goddess, the great Destroyer, the one who brought all things into the world and took them all out.

Kali.

Mother.

Sabbath was scared shitless of the prospect.

"What is drawing down the moon?" he inquired, still watching her. She looked at him and had to smile slightly. He was badly beaten, but at least he was alive. She knew he was furious about the outcome of the fight, but she would thank Calan if she got the chance. He could easily have killed the madman, but he had not. His restraint was admirable.

"I would become a direct conduit for the Goddess. Not just for Her power – for Her, Herself. I would become an avatar."

His eye widened. "She comes into you… and you become her?"

"In a way."

"Like the Christ."

She smirked. "Not exactly. Christ was an avatar, but he was… sort of different. I mean, I could withstand that for maybe an hour, at the most. The length of a ritual. But he lived his entire life, the actual son of God. In any case, if I can get her blessing, I might be able to get a chunk of that power I need, but even that might not be enough. I'm just one person, Farfarello. There's only so much I can do."

His brow furrowed. She sounded very tired, too tired for her own good. And her skin was an unhealthy shade and her hair was tangled and limp. How much of herself was she putting into this thing that was supposed to destroy the Collective, this thing she had ironically named Pandora's Box? She was dedicated, he realized. She would kill herself for this if she had to.

"Is this safe?"

She glanced up at him and chuckled. "Goddess, Farf, when did you become a mother-hen? It's not like you and I don't think I like it. As for whether it's safe, I'll quote C.S. Lewis for that: Of course it's not safe. But I'm good. And you're just going to have to trust me, and why do you care anyway?"

He glared at her. "Because I have decided that I would not like it if you were harmed."

"Unless you're the one hurting me, right?" She sounded amused.

He smirked at her. "Perhaps. You have very nice skin. Blood shows so starkly against it. I could decorate it with pictures, make it a beautiful sea of destruction."

She grinned ferally at him. "Try it and I'll tear out your larynx and shove it up your ass."

He returned the grin. Now THAT was better. That was the Sabbath he had met, the headstrong, belligerent young woman who'd managed to charm him. He did NOT like this tired, pale, and drawn version of his vivacious little witch. It made her look like walking dead, and he had decided recently that he didn't want to lose her, though he knew that leaving her for a time was necessary for the fulfillment of Schwarz's plans. He didn't want her…broken, that was it. He didn't like seeing her broken.

"But you can draw pictures on me if you like," she told him. "Ever done henna?"

He hiked an eyebrow. Henna dye? "Why? Does it matter?"

"I need some henna done, I don't feel like paying for it if I don't have to, but I can't do it myself and get it right. You'll get to poke me with toothpicks," she told him enticingly.

He smirked. "Interesting…."

"Only you could be wooed that way," she told him dryly, and he smirked. 

"Only you would dare to try."

X-X-X

"Ne, Farf?"

"Mm."

"I know I promised you that you could poke me with toothpicks, but in REALITY, if you poke me with that, I will take it away and destroy your other eye."

"Mm."

X-X-X


	17. Chapter 17

((Author's warning: This chapter contains material not suitable for anyone under the age of consent. I didn't go into excruciating detail, but it's THERE, so if you're underage or easily offended, just don't fucking READ it for heaven's sake. External linking to this scene, because there IS important plot stuff that happens in it, is driving me insane. If you're not responsible enough to decide what you do or don't want to read, then you don't deserve to have internet in the first place. You have been warned.))

He sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling, thinking. His skin was still tight over his ribs as he breathed, that feeling that he knew should be pain, but wasn't. For a brief moment, rage welled and he let out a string of quiet curses, aimed at the God above who neither heard him, nor cared. What was it that someone had once said? Hating God was like spitting at the sky. The sky wasn't bothered and you were liable to nail yourself in the face in the meantime. Growling softly under his breath, he rubbed his fingertips together. They were stained brown with henna dye. He had spent hours making delicate, precise designs across Sabbath's arms and hands and down her calves and feet. He didn't know their significance, but he knew that with that deep brown, almost black, staining her perfect skin with lines and whorls, she looked unbearably exotic. The living room smelled faintly of the red nail polish she'd put on her finger and toe nails. He'd thought black, or perhaps a deep purple, was more her color but she'd merely smirked when he suggested it. "Not my choice," she told him, and wouldn't say another word about it.

There was another thump from her room, and he slowly let his gaze turn in that direction. The quiet sound of drums, probably a CD, had been playing for the two hours she had been in there, and from time to time he had heard her voice raised in wavering, foreign song or in chanting. The smell of incense slowly drifted out and chased away the nail polish smell. There was pounding in rhythm with the drums, and he felt the floor shake when he pressed his fingertips to it, and smirked slightly. Dancing. She was dancing. What he wouldn't give to see her….

The apartment was empty. He didn't know when he became aware of it. He suddenly stirred to full wakefulness, having been lost in his own thoughts for quite a while. Standing, he curiously searched through the apartment. No Crawford, no Schuldich, no Nagi, though his computer was turned on and sitting on his bed, the screen a peculiar blank white-black. He felt somewhat… hazy, as though he was moving in a dream. As though his vision was somewhat fogged. Had someone left the window open? He headed back toward the living room, only to find the moon glaring down at him, larger and brighter than he had ever seen it. The clouds framed it and seemed to be in turmoil, and the stars flared unbelievably bright. If he reached up, he thought he might be able to touch that silken black canopy, that fathomless sky… he reached, but his fingers touched only cold glass. His nose pressed against it. That moon, that place of white sands and glass castles, it was so close, but he couldn't get to it. Both hands pressed to the glass, flattened, moved slowly down it. The floor thumped again and the heady scent of incense made his nostrils burn. What was that scent? It reminded him of steamed jungles. Of oceans. Of sand, of mountains and stick huts, of squalor and splendor next door to each other. India. India….

There was light under her doorframe. Flickering light, candle light. Farfarello liked candles, liked fire, and always had. When he had been very young, when he had been Jay McConahan, the candles at the feet of the Virgin Mary had stood for prayers, an assurance that the Mother of the Lord was watching over all of them. Candles were always lit in the church, and he liked to have lit candles around when he had his rare talks with God. They were mostly rants, strange rituals he indulged in from time to time, mockeries of the rituals he had been taught in church, back when he had wanted to be a priest, before he had known of God's lies and his curses. He found himself leaning against the doorframe, against the door, hands pressed to the wood feeling the little thumps and scrapes that marked her dancing. Dancing. The wood was warm and tempting and he heard the quailing voice that rose to accompany the drums, light as a flute trilling, but strong. There was a hiss of breath, a soft gasp, a swish of air. The drums pounded. His heart seemed to throb in time with them, or were the drums made to drum in time with the human heart? He wouldn't know. He was lightheaded, and felt almost faint, but it was a heady feeling. He wanted to collapse and at the same time wanted to run up mountains and tear oak trees from the ground. The insides of his wrists throbbed with his heart. With the drums.

His fingers found the doorknob. NO… this was a sacred place. He mustn't intrude, mustn't interrupt. He had to stay well clear of this place, this place that was filled with magick that tingled against his skin like a thousand firecrackers. He shouldn't go in, but he felt called, beckoned. And the door swung slowly, silently open.

Sabbath. But it was not Sabbath – something had changed, something drastic. She bowed and bent low as she whirled around the circle, arms moving fluidly around her, feet tracing gracefully over the floor. Golden armbands decorated her biceps and her ankles were draped with golden scales. She had painted her finger and toe nails red, along with her eyelids and lips. She didn't have a golden headdress, so she had braided gold into her hair. Kali's tilaka was painted onto her forehead in red and light blue, and she was bare-chested, full breasts moving with her as she danced. She wore a necklace – plastic skulls tied together with gold ribbon. A few more gold necklaces looped her slender throat. And she positively reeked of Power, of authority, of a sort of mad exuberance. Her skin was white instead of black and she had only two arms, but in all other aspects, with twin daggers held in her small-boned hands, she was very image of Kali Ma.

And then She turned, and She saw him, and something was very different about those black eyes, about those red lips when they parted in breathy recognition. Sabbath was still in there somewhere, and he knew she knew him. This beautiful, dangerous, graceful creature was her, but at the same time, not her.

Avatar.

He saw two more knives, his own, lent to her earlier, tucked into the red and black skirt, decorated with a handprint design, that was wrapped around her waist. It was thin, and hid very little in the flickering light as the dark forms of her legs moved. Her footwork continued, but she remained in place, watching him with eyes he didn't know, hands tracing elaborate patterns around her body. Her breathing quickened. He didn't realize he'd moved forward until she spun away and vanished from his sight, disappearing in the direction of his blind side. He turned, eye scanning the room. He saw her altar, a large bronze statue of the Goddess Herself holding centerpiece position. It was surrounded by red, black, and gold candles. More candles were placed around the room, along with a few more images. Posters, he realized. Had they always been there? Had she bought these on their shopping trip earlier in the day? He didn't know. Kali dancing in the flames of a funeral pyre, Kali vanquishing a demon, Kali dancing on Shiva after having ravished him. And always, she was dancing. Depicted in many forms and many outfits, she was always dancing. Hers was the dance of life and death, of creation and destruction.

"I am the death of ego," came the whispered voice and he whirled, only to find that she was not there. He felt sluggish, and still his head was light. "I am the death of all." He turned again and caught sight of a single white limb, resplendent in whorls of dark henna, vanishing into shadow. He turned to pinpoint the altar and there she was, standing before it, watching him hungrily. "I am the Destroyer, the dark of the moon, the Goddess. I am the devourer."

"And I am the devil," he murmured back, sidestepping, feeling somewhat threatened by this… creature. "I am the hunter, the destroyer of God's works. The adversary of the Liar."

She chuckled. "I know." Whispered words fell from blooded lips, and he realized suddenly that that really was blood. Stepping closer, he spotted a chalice on the altar, filled with something red. "I know who you are. And what you are. You would be my ally against the marauding God, that twisted symbol of masculine domination, and yet you care not for me. Who do you serve then, Farfarello?"

"The truth," he murmured, fingers flexing slowly. There were blades hidden in his clothing. He could draw them at any time. He could trace those designs with blood and puncture a tongue, share the blood on her lips.

She laughed. "I am the truth!" She told him, slipping one blade into her skirt and picking up the chalice. "I am the cycle!" She tilted her head back as the drumming sped, reaching a crescendo, making the entire room throb. It could not be as loud as he felt it was, could it? It had barely been audible on the other side of the door. Drinking deeply from the goblet, she bared red-stained teeth at him and offered it to him.

He drank. It was not blood. It was wine, red wine, some sort of spiced wine. When he lowered the goblet she was gone again and the intoxicating combination of scent, sound, and flickering flames was beginning to get to him. He felt he might drown, that there was not enough air to feed his lungs. Then he recognized a slightly sweet scent beneath the incense and whirled, spotting her where she swayed, around the circle, always in a clockwise direction. He too had moved clockwise since entering, without thinking about it much, except that the room seemed to spin and he was merely following it. "Marijuana," he said simply. It was not a question.

"Would you be in the proper state of mind otherwise?" she inquired, laughing. "Most humans cannot see the divine with their own eyes. They are stuck too deeply in their bodies. They are too banal, too sane, too hung up on reason and logic. When you come here, you come into MY sanctuary, where no one keeps their feet on the ground and the sky is the best place for your head to be. Outside, there is science, but here there is magick. This place is SACRED. Did you thoughtlessly invade it without knowing so?" Her tone turned accusatory, and he considered that accusation.

"No."

She smirked. "You came to me." Her voice was softer, more like the witch's that he knew.

"Yes."

"Sometimes you scare me, Farf." She moved toward him, stepping in rhythm, but no longer dancing. "You're not scared of me, are you?" Dark brown eyes fixed on his, capturing his gaze, gravely solemn.

He stared into those depths for a long moment, saw the flames flicker there, saw the Goddess dancing there, and said, "no."

She broke into a barbaric grin and he returned it, and then she took his arms, pulling him with her, whirling around the circle to where the altar sat at the south-most point. She reached down beside it and found something there, a red pencil. Her fingers found the strap of his eye-patch and pulled it over his head. They brushed the empty socket, the metal staples that held the skin together over it, and then her other hand cupped his face and she was drawing something on his forehead. His skin tingled. "What is it?" he asked quietly. His voice was steady. He was part of this now… there was no danger in it for him, and damned if he'd care much if there was. There were benefits to being insane.

"It means Rakshasa," she murmured. "Devil. You are no Shiva, sorry. The Rakshasas were a force of demons, evil spirits led by Ravana, also known as Iblis, or Azreal. They interfered with the rituals of priests, creating spiritual hurdles to prevent those priests from gaining divine support. They were air-aspected spirits," She told him slyly. "Like the great bird, Farfarello….."

He smiled darkly into the eyes of the witch, and the Goddess smiled back at him. Her tongue slipped out, running along her lips slowly, and she bolted up and away from him, whipping in a circle as the drums pounded. Her laughter rang out, dark and joyous, and he glanced down at the bronze representation of the goddess before rising slowly. On the balls of his feet, he tested himself and found he was itching to move. It was hot in this room, almost unbearably hot. He stripped off his loose black shirt, revealing the two knives strapped to his forearms and the two hilts slipped into his pants. His body was traced with scars, pale marks that testified to a life lived on the edge of death, muscled and lithe. He had no shoes on. The hardwood was warm under his calloused feet.

She arched back almost double and let out a wild cry toward the ceiling, and his heart thudded in anticipation. He looked down and now he could see the circle, drawn in red chalk, with symbols etched along the inner edge. This was the barrier between worlds. It intersected the doorway. Stepping through the doorframe, he had entered this place of the divine. It included most of the room, excluding only the corners. It gave them room, and room they would need.

The drums dropped in volume and beat more quickly, and he felt himself panting, moving forward in a stalking lope, catching up with his witch where she danced and whirling around her. Clockwise, always clockwise, and he didn't pause to wonder why. He sucked in a breath, teeth grinding together as his bones vibrated with the throbbing beat. He had to move or he'd drop where he stood.

My homeland has a saying: never give a sword to a man who cannot dance.

He felt the rhythm and fell into it gracefully. He didn't know her style, but it was fluid, flickering like the flame, so he fixed his gaze on the candlelight and the way his shadow played against the walls, and he became the flame.

So, between you and God, who's the better dancer?

She whirled around him, uttering cries from time to time, body bending gracefully forward and back, down and around. She stomped on the floor and whirled, knives tracing a deadly dance around Her. She had no battle skill with them, but it was beautiful. She was beautiful.

Mine is the dance of blood and pain, of tears and suffering.

He drew in breath, feeling his ribs shift under their bindings, white bandages stark against even his pale skin. He turned and found himself moving, stepping, turning. Always with the drums, always moving with the circle.

I have never faltered, never missed a step. On the bodies of his chosen ones, I dance with joy and malice.

Flutes joined the drums, tracing melodies that swirled in and out of and around each other like ribbons in the wind. They were water and air, and the drums were earth and fire. They spun him around and made him dip low to the ground as he turned, feet whispering across the floor.

I am wickedness, come to oppose goodness. You think I don't really understand all that entails, but I DO.

Something bubbled up from his gut and he let it out, a cry, feral and hungry. His hands found metal and the knives became a part of his dance, the steel reflecting the firelight and tracing patterns in the air around him even deadlier than the Goddess's. Because he was a killer, he was a destroyer, he was a ravager.

Without goodness, there can be no wickedness.

There was warmth and pressure against his back and he let himself lean against the witch for the briefest moment before they parted, spinning away from each other, stepping around and around in circles, sticking close, two planets orbiting each other. No, not planets, suns; burning, flaring and receding, swelling and dying. She gasped as he let out another cry, she cried out as he gasped, and he felt her breath whoosh out against the skin of his chest as they faced each other, only too briefly, before separating again.

…In the black cavern at the centre of all infinity, where Azathoth gnaws ravenously in ultimate chaos amid the mad beating of hidden drums….

DUM DUM.

Her breasts pressed against him and she stared up as he stared down, held, frozen in a moment of eternal recognition.

DUM DUM, DUM DUM, DUM DUM….. DUM … DUM … DUM DUM DUM….

The beating of the drums took over for the litany of words in his mind. He stepped to the side, she to the opposite, his left hand finding and entwining with her left hand as he stepped back to original positions and then to the other side, pushed apart, came together, pushed apart, spun under and through each other, whirled in and out, and always, always circled.

DUMDUM DUMDUM DUMDUM DUMDUM DUM…. DUMDUMDUM DUM….

He pulled her toward him, dipping his head, tasting spiced honey and patchouli on her skin. Her other hand slid up his chest, curled behind his neck. Hadn't they had blades at some point? He couldn't remember losing them or putting them away.

DUM…. DUM DUM DUM DUM….

A flute trilled wildly and his lips brushed hers, his free hand sliding around her waist, pulling her against him. Still, they were spinning. She drew him down and locked her mouth to his even as he locked his body to hers. Somehow, her fingers found hold in his hair even as his tongue found hers and tangled with it.

DUM DUM… dumdumdum, dumdumdum, dumdumdum, DUM DUM…

She yanked his head back and twisted free of his hands, and he snarled at finding her gone. She made a beeline for the altar, reaching out, hand closing around something even as a pair of strong arms wound around her waist and hauled her back, propelling her toward the bed, which rested within the circle's confines. She stumbled, found her balance, whirled, and leaped onto him, arms wrapping around his neck, legs around his waist. Her mouth found his again and plundered it; he managed to catch her without toppling and pushed forward, falling. Her back hit the mattress and he sank down into her, her skin fevered against his as his teeth found her lower lip and worried at it.

DUM… DUMDUMDUM DUM….DUMDUMDUM DUM….dumdumdumdumdum dum, dumdumdumdumdum dum…..

He tore the necklace of skulls from her. The others weren't bothersome so he let them be. Her fingers found the button of his pants and tore it free, ripped the zipper down even as he pulled the knotted ends of her skirt apart and unraveled the thin length of material. They rolled and his hands found the headboard as she tore at his pants and he kicked them off, releasing the wood just in time to catch his goddess as she pounced on him again. Her nails dug into his shoulders, his nails dug into her hips.

Dumdumdum… dumdumdum…dumdumdum… dumdumdum… DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM… DUMDUM….

Her teeth found his throat and he arched, pulling her down, drawing a leg up and finding the leverage to flip them again. She sucked in a breath as he found her shoulder, crying out as he bit down, hands gripping her thighs and kneading until one slipped between them. His fingertips danced along her clit and further down, sliding easily into her body. Gods… she burned, arching into his hands and crying out, tight and wet, ready for him. He surged against her, her blood trickling across his tongue, thick and sweet. She shifted, he shifted, and her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands on his shoulders drawing him down, nails digging into his skin, demanding.

DUM dum dum dum DUM dum dum dum DUM dum dum dum DUM DUM DUMDUM….

She let out a throaty groan. All the encouragement he needed. He slid his hands under her, lifted her, drove forward and buried himself inside her.

DUM DUM dumdumdum, dumdumdum, dumdumdum DUM DUM ….

They both screamed, he into her shoulder, she into his ear. He set the rhythm, hard and fast, influenced not a little by the throbbing beat that seemed to shake the walls now, seemed to dictate the pulse of his blood, and every thrust tore a cry from her throat, a plea for fulfillment, a demand for more, faster, harder, deeper. Her body undulated beneath his, soft and strong, clenching blissfully around his cock even as her arms clenched blissfully around him. Sealed together with blood and sweat, locked.

"Farf!"

He pulled her up, tighter against him, and she groaned, meeting his thrusts, moving her body against his.

"Farf, yes… just… like… that…."

Something flared at the base of his spine and swelled, racing through his blood, stealing his breath, making his heart skip. His skin burned. He pulled back further to thrust into her deeper and heard approving cries wrung from her throat. His tongue worked at her shoulder, at the red and bleeding marks in it, feeling along her skin before sealing his lips over the wound and sucking, hard. She ground up against him again and threw her head back, whimpering, nails digging deeply into his back as her body convulsed hard under his and tightened like a vise. Her scream was delicious, more than delicious, and her throat vibrated against his cheek as she continued to convulse, to shake, muscles trembling violently as wave after wave of pleasure battered her, sweetening her blood. She pulled at him, gripped him, enveloped him and he sped, release beckoning to him if he could only push over that edge.

There was no need to push when she dragged, he discovered, a feral roar losing itself in her skin and the mattress beneath it as he came and hung suspended, caught in the throes of orgasm for an instant that seemed to stretch on and on, an explosion of the slow build-up of power they had been creating since she had started her dance, since he had joined her. It was transcendental, sublime, and altogether just too much… and then that ecstatic haze was sucked down, drained from him, leaving him exhausted and sated in the arms of his witch. Her body shuddered and slowly relaxed and he felt the drawing away of their energy, wondered at it… until he turned his head and saw one of her hands, stretched out to the bedside table and clenched around a small, crystal box.

Blackness claimed him.

X-X-X

Sunlight woke him the next morning, slowly, drawing him up from the depths of dreams where he had spent the night. The dreams had been fuzzy and disjointed, but in a soothing way, seeming to fly past him before he could get a grip on him, ringing with children's laughter and musical tones. He felt the warmth of the sun against his skin and stretched, and it was the movement, really, that woke him up. Head falling to the side, he saw a closed door that was not familiar to him and he remembered that he was not in his own room.

He sat up and brushed a few stray strands of hair from his face, fingers skating over his forehead and pausing as he realized he wasn't wearing his eye patch. A cursory scan of the room located it on the floor, along with the rest of his clothes, and he paused thoughtfully. Then, as sound began to filter into his consciousness, he noticed the thrum of running water and turned to gaze hard at the door.

It held no answers for him, and he wasn't even sure what his questions were.

By the time Sabbath emerged from the bathroom, drying her hair in a towel, he was dressed and kneeling in front of her altar. One hand was outstretched, the longest finger resting on the forehead of Kali's bronze effigy. He didn't turn to look at her, eye closed, breaths even, though he very clearly heard her light steps. Clumsy – she did not know how to move like a predator and she was no more graceful now than all women were, natural in their grace. But she was still small, slender, and thus even the contact of her heels on the wood of the floor was not so jarring. She stopped behind him, also staring at the statue of the goddess, and for a long moment neither of them said anything. Then she stepped forward and dropped to the floor solidly next to him, legs crossed, small feet tucked under her thighs. She was wearing jeans and a red t-shirt, with a red bandana tied around the knee of one pant leg for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom. Red was a bold color, and on her it was striking, but he could feel that her reasons for wearing it went beyond fashion sense. He glanced away from her, toward one of the posters that portrayed Kali Ma in full dress. She was wearing red. Red was considered by Hindus and Gypsies, who had originally come from India, to be the color of death. Red was the color of blood, of love, of hatred, and of all passions. Red was the color of the tilaka that remained upon her forehead, though she'd scrubbed the henna nearly off. The designs still remained, so faded as to be ephemeral, but still noticeable against her skin.

Her lips were bare, though, and her eyes were once again outlined in black. When he finally turned his head and met them, he saw his witch, not the goddess of death and life, staring back at him. Sabbath in all her humanness. She looked frail. He wondered idly how much her stunt last night had taken out of her, and remembered red-nailed fingers curled around a small quartz box.

"What do you think of Her?" Sabbath inquired, her tone possessing the lilt of childish innocence.

"I think that I should think She is false," he replied honestly, "but inside I don't feel that. Inside, I feel… drums."

She snorted quietly. "Yeah, well, that's better than being accused of blasphemy, I guess," she said with amusement. "I guess it's fairly obvious that She liked you." A smile pulled at her lips, and for whatever reason, she tried (and failed) to fight it back.

Farfarello smirked. "Hm."

She sighed and shook out her hair, wet strands clinging to her skin. "Stop that. I want to know what you think."

"About?"

"THIS!" she exploded, rocking forward and gesturing around the room, in a vague sort of 'everything' motion. "You can't have just dismissed the whole thing. If you have, I think I'll strangle you."

He refocused his attention on the statue, Kali's distended tongue licking at the air, her eyes focused on him, wild and hungry. "It was sacred," he told her simply. "Touching the divine."

"The divinely frightening."

His lips twitched. "The divine." He touched that tongue, fingertip following its curve to the wicked point. "What does she taste?"

"The blood of the demon Raktabija," Sabbath explained. "The story's been around the block a couple times, so there's a few different versions. The simplest way to put it is this: Raktabija obtained a boon from the gods, that every time he was wounded in battle, every drop of blood that hit the ground would rise up as another Raktabija, strong, whole, and even more powerful than the last. When Raktabija began to abuse his power, the gods all stood against him, but whenever they wounded him, a dozen more Raktabijas sprang up in his place. In despair, they cried to the great mother, Kali. She consented to battle Raktabija, and when she wounded him she immediately pressed her lips to the wound and drank all of his blood thus preventing him from rebirthing himself." Sabbath smiled at the statue. "And also, she just craves blood. Period."

He took in this story with a slightly tilted head, full lips parted. The goddess stared back at him, insane and insatiable.

Falling silent, Sabbath let out a quiet sigh and crawled over to nuzzle up under Farfarello's arm. "Let's not do this awkward thing," she said darkly. "I'll kill something if I have to fuck with that."

He patted her head. "Murder is cathartic, Sab. Would you like some help?"

"Shut up, you," she muttered, but she was not angry. He smirked slightly.

"Can we do that again?"

A laugh rippled from her chest at the lilt of insane glee in his tone. "The ritual or the sex?"

"Sex, of course." His head swiveled, and then she was looking up into a sea of gold. "I marked you," he observed, leaning down and digging his teeth into her shoulder where the bite wound from the previous night was hidden by thin cotton.

"Yeah, well, you've got nail marks all over your back, so I guess we're even." She yawned. "Ne, Farf?"

He'd switched to gnawing on her neck now, and his only response was a small, throaty sound.

"This isn't going to last."

He pulled back and eyed her. Whatever was going through his mind was lost to her in that moment, drowned in his unfathomable silence. "Did you think it would?" he inquired finally.

"No. I just wanted to make sure we were both aware."

"It is pointless to hide from reality," he told her. "Our paths do not remain crossed for very long, and that is just the way of things."

She nodded. "Okay. Just making sure. I'd hate to… you know, break your heart or something."

He blinked. "I hate God. I like you. I like Schuldich. I hate lies. Emotions contained in the heart, most would say. And they would also say I don't have a heart to break. Personally, I am inclined to agree with the latter. Those emotions come from somewhere else," he told her matter-of-factly.

She shrugged. "Lust and hatred come from here and here." She tapped his sternum and his thigh, and then his heart, saying "not from here. Though love does come from here and if you remember, you did say you loved me. Was that a lie?" She watched him warily, half-expecting him to fly into a rage upon the accusation, but he simply tilted his head thoughtfully, lips falling open as he sank into the stream of his own consciousness. She waited patiently, fingers running back and forth over one muscled, leather-encased thigh. Finally, he turned his head down, to look at her.

"It was not a lie, it was a misstatement. I love you as much as something like me is capable of that emotion. And what I feel might not be love, because it certainly is not pure or selfless. It would be something twisted, something just a bit less holy. But it is affection and lust and admiration. Those things all mixed together. Is it enough?"

"You feel that way toward Schu, don't you?"

"Yes."

She nodded and shifted, dropping her head in his lap. He petted her hair. "Okay, just checking."

"Does it bother you?" He sounded blackly amused.

She chuckled. "Nah. I don't own you anyway."

He tilted his head. "Well, you claim a piece of me now. As I claim a piece of you."

"You want a finger or a toe?" she wise-cracked, and he smirked deeply.

"I want everything. I want to taste you," he murmured, the backs of his nails making half-threatening, half-soothing movements over her neck.

"Mmmm. I'd jump on a silver platter and skate myself over to you, Farf, but like I said, this isn't going to last."

"No," he agreed. "But that is in the future. This is here and now." His fingers slid around her neck. Its curve was strong and graceful. "Here and now, you are mine."

Something in her bristled at the claim of ownership. "Here and now, I'm my own," she shot back. "And if I deign to give myself to you, that just makes you one lucky son of a bitch."

"My mother was a bitch," he said easily. "But you're mistaken. You gave yourself to me and that's the end of it… I own you now. Do you object?" His lips pulled back from his teeth just slightly, making it plain that he'd enjoy reinforcing his claim if she refused to acknowledge it.

She tried to sit up and he held her down. "YES, I object… get off!" She scrambled backwards and he wound a hand in her hair, forcing her to stop short. Her hands closed around his fingers and tried to pry them loose, and he caught her by the shirt, yanking her close and drawing the scent of her hair into his lungs. Something herbal and delicious. His teeth closed on her neck and she yelped as he bit down, not quite enough to draw blood. He wrestled her onto her back and she fought him the entire way down, strong enough to make him work for it but not strong enough to stop him. Her knee slammed into his groin, but it didn't manage to shift him.

"You still fight as though your opponent can be hurt," he told her devilishly, listening to her grunt and growl under him. "You've forgotten what I am. A devil, remember? And you are my witch. MINE."

"Witches don't believe in Satan and we don't traffic in devils," Sabbath snarled, struggling like a little maniac. "I'm going to fucking KILL you…"

"By all means, send me to the Maker's arms. Let me face him as I wish." Farfarello was laughing in her ear. "If you can. But you can't, can you? You wouldn't kill me even if you had to. And I wouldn't kill you either… you're amusing." He wrestled with her until he was stretched out on top of her, his hips grinding hers down into the floor. She growled at him through bared teeth as he hovered over her, nose to nose, but her movement under him was more grinding back against him and less struggling to get away. "You see, I can claim you. Because you like this," he told her matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, well, you're a sexy little psychopath," she shot back. "I might let you believe you own me just to get you into bed again, but that doesn't mean you DO." Her lips curled up in a nasty smirk.

"And I might let you believe you are still your own just to keep you in my bed, but that doesn't mean you actually ARE," he replied blithely, lips brushing hers. "So who is pretending and who knows the truth?"

"You're pretending and I know the truth," She told him confidently. "Because I'm an American and nobody owns me unless I say they do."

He laughed. "You think your rights are so unaliable? You have a lot to learn, little witch. Let's start with this: " He kissed her, thoroughly, teeth tearing at her lower lip when it refused to part from the upper for him. "I can claim you if I want to, and if you can't refute my claim, you're stuck, aren't you? Like now. God gave man free will, but another man can take it away… if you let him."

"Is that what Eszet's done to you?" she growled, obviously a shot at his pride.

But he merely shrugged. "Eszet does not have their claws in me. I have told you before: I will never serve Eszet. I serve only Schwarz."

"Schwarz serves Eszet!"

His lips twitched upward. "… In theory. In reality, we of Schwarz serve ourselves. And Eszet is a means to an end."

She chuckled. "Do you really think you can use THEM, Farf? I've heard enough Eszet horror stories to know better. You don't use them. They use you. And they're always two steps ahead."

"They cannot be two steps ahead of a madman," he told her, chuckling under his breath as his teeth grazed her throat. "We dance in circles. Two steps ahead of us is also four steps behind."

"That was very poetic," she told him. "Now, GET OFF."

"No." He bit her.

"OW. Farf, off. Now, now, NOW!"

"Mine, mine, mine," he returned in a sing-song giggle, fingers finding her wrists and digging cruelly into them.

"I'm SO going to hurt you when I…. I forgot who I'm talking to." She let out a sigh, head falling back with a thunk.

He laughed. "So you have. Give up?"

"Sure." She shrugged absently and lay sprawled against the floor. "I give. Now, let me up?"

"I don't think so. You're warm," he observed and proceeded to cuddle down into her, fingers still painfully tight around her wrists. "And small." His hip bone ground painfully against her thigh.

"Ow," she complained mildly, shifting and glaring at him. "You just want me to fight, don't you?"

"Mm," he murmured noncommittally, biting her again. Pain flared in her shoulder and she found a length of exposed skin – his neck – and bit back. He groaned. "Mine…."

"Don't claim something you can't keep," she growled against his skin.

He sighed and sat back. "Here, now, on this floor, in this room. Once that door is open, I can promise nothing, nor would I want to. But HERE…." His eye bore into hers, depthless, golden.

She had to smile, even if it was sad. "Here… yours. Just for a while."

"Time is fleeting. And we are wasting it," he observed.

She threw her head back, cracking it against the floor again, and laughed. "OW….. Goddess, Farf. 'Sexpot' is never an image I imagined for you."

"I am many things," he told her as his grip on her wrists loosened and he shifted, no longer pressing her bones into the hardwood. "At this moment…."

"Mine," she finished with a chuckle, arms twisting until her wrists were free so that her fingers could find his clothing and knot in it. "Mine, mine, mine."

X-X-X


	18. Chapter 18

Schuldich's fingers were knotted in his brilliant orange hair, a look of intense concentration on his sharp features. He looked almost pained, and when Sabbath stepped out of her room and into the living room, he gave her a look that would have frozen a pigeon in midair.

She glanced up and hiked a brow at him, obviously not understanding, and his teeth ground together as he growled, "If you're going to think kinky thoughts about our resident psychopath while fucking him senseless, would you MIND being quieter about it?"

She turned dark, tomato red and that improved Schuldich's mood just a bit as she at least had the decency to look incredibly sheepish. "Gomen," she murmured, moving skittishly toward the kitchen.

He sneered and waved a hand at her. "Oh, don't worry about it. I've seen him in much more compromising positions…" He smirked at her slightly, but she merely shrugged.

"You've also had him longer. Give us time."

He laughed and stood, slipping up behind her as she opened the refrigerator. The cooling unit had nothing to do with the shiver that made its way up her spine as he leaned in, hair brushing her cheek, and took a deep breath.

"You smell warm," he said smoothly. "And afraid. Don't tell me you've finally gotten some sense knocked into you… or fucked into you, as it were."

She eyed him dryly. "I'm not afraid of you," she told him with an exasperated sigh,

"Of course you aren't. But you're afraid of him, now. Isn't it sad? You're just fractured up here." Long-fingered hands caressed her hair. "But he's shattered, a broken mirror, none of the fragments in the right places. You can understand him on a certain level, but his insanity goes even deeper than you're willing to go… and you're finally beginning to realize that."

She'd stiffened and he listened as she took his words, examined them, and considered them.

"This isn't your place either, is it? You don't even belong here, where everybody else is as crazy as you are."

"You just never give up, do you?" she wondered with a sigh as she extracted a single-serving bottle of milk and twisted the top off, turning away from the refrigerator and facing Schu directly. She was much smaller than him, and thus was staring at his chest. "Move."

He braced both hands against the fridge and leaned down, getting in her face, invading her comfort zone. "I don't think so. So you finally realized what a psycho he is. What do you do now? Try to run and he'll kill you… he kills everything he loves, sooner or later."

"He doesn't love," Sabbath told him with a shrug. "So I suppose, in all technicality, I shouldn't even have to worry."

"Technicalities are a dangerous thing to play with. This is Farf we're talking about."

"Farf and me," Sabbath reminded him. "Or are you just jealous because it isn't Farf and you?"

She couldn't have stopped the blow if she'd known it was coming. He was too fast. His hand smacked into her cheek, HARD, and his braced arm was the only thing that kept her from tumbling to the floor. The blow made her ears ring and her face numb and she realized as the dizziness left her that she would have one HELL of a bruise tomorrow.

"We're going to talk, princess," that nasal voice said into her ear. "Just you and me, right here, and right now. And you're going to tell me what I want to hear or you're not going to last the day. We can destroy The One on our own, don't you think? We don't need you."

"Then kill me and be done with it. I don't play games."

"No, you don't, do you? Everything you do is genuine. Which makes me wonder. Just how deeply ARE you in love with him, anyway?" He smirked slightly. "I feel your thoughts. I know your mind. You love him but you're starting to be terrified of him. Hm, what's this?" He pulled a memory from her thoughts and examined it with amusement. "Mmm, no, Farfie doesn't like to take 'no' for an answer, does he? What do you think, Sabbath? Can you fight him off when you need to do that? Can you restrain him when it comes to that? You're strong of mind but the mind isn't his playground. The body is. You're too weak where it counts."

"So I'm discovering," she told him bluntly. "But you're hardly the confidante I'd be looking for, so why even bother? You don't care if I live or die."

"No," he mused. "I don't. But…."

"But you care about Farf and you don't want me to hurt him?"

Schuldich scowled. "Not precisely the way I would put it."

She snorted. "Of course not. Believe me, Schuldich, if anybody hurts anybody here, it'll be one of y'all hurting me. Because I'm not an Eszet agent….

Yet

…. And I can't stop you. I am too weak, and that's my fault, but since I don't have the time or the inclination to rectify that at the moment, just leave me alone and let me do what I'm supposed to be doing. I wasn't trying to use him, but sex with Farfarello served a purpose and got us closer to our goal, so even YOU are going to have to accept it."

His eyes were narrowed. "Yet? What does that mean, 'yet'?"

She looked confused. 

"Your thoughts said you weren't an Eszet agent YET. Planning on switching sides on us, liebchen?"

"I didn't mean literally," she told him, her tone scathing. "I meant that I'm not like you. But given how you seem to be rubbing off on me, that might not be the case for long."

"Liar," he accused evenly, straightening and releasing her, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

She shrugged. "None of your business anyway." She pushed off the fridge and slipped past him, but he wasn't trying to stop her. He was thinking, and thinking hard.

After a long moment, he turned and headed for the door behind which he could find one Bradley Crawford.

X-X-X

"And here I thought you didn't dare to step out of the house on your own."

Sabbath turned to meet the owner of that smooth, chill voice, smiling gratefully as Ice slid a Dr. Pepper across the worn and battered table to her. Around them, lights strobed and bodies writhed to a heavy base throb, but they had this table, this corner, to themselves. The tall, muscled Cryokinetic slid into the seat across from her, folding his hands and resting his elbows on the table. Light blue tattoos graced his shoulders and upper chest, and she could see them when he didn't bother to wear a shirt, like now. Like most of the time, in fact.

"I don't like the mess you've gotten yourself into, Sab," he said matter-of-factly, cutting straight to the point, for which she was grateful. "And I don't trust your friends."

She nodded. "I don't trust them either. But what choice do we have?"

"If that's all you're going to tell me, why call this meeting? Something on your mind?" He leaned back in his chair, sipping his ice water through a straw and propping his sandaled feet on the chair next to him.

She played with her own straw. The first swallow burned her throat. "You know me too well. I'm in trouble, Irilisan. And the hole gets deeper every time I turn around."

"Stop digging, then," he said dryly, tracing a finger through the beads of condensation on his glass.

"The deeper I dig, the more ground the rest of you have to stand on," she told him.

He snorted. "Ever the martyr. You disgust me sometimes, Sab, you really do. Do you EVER think about yourself or do you really believe you're so worthless that you don't deserve to have things turn out in your favor?"

She simply shrugged, and his eyes narrowed. An uncaring response was an indicator to him of just how deep she was in. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one," she told him. "You know as well as I do. There's no other choice. We don't have the numbers needed to punch through to the heart of The One. Schwarz will be the wild card we need."

"And after they've so generously killed our enemy for us?" Those unnaturally colored blue eyes bore into Sabbath, but she didn't squirm. She was used to Ice's gaze. "What then?"

"Then the Inconnu go to ground," she said quietly. "And disappear. And Eszet searches futilely, without a single lead to go on."

"We've made plans for that," he told her. "What happens to YOU?"

"You won't see me again."

He hiked a brow and watched her impassive face for a moment, before shrugging and running his finger around the lip of his glass. "Well. Then I suppose I shouldn't tell you any of our plans, hmm? Bridges burned, is that it? You need to be an island?" She started to answer, but he abruptly slammed a fist down on the table as the water froze solid and shattered the glass, his eyes frigid. "You idiot. Do you think I want to let go of you that easily? Do you think I'll allow it?"

"You don't have a choice," she told him, leaning back and away from his powerful presence. "None of us have a choice. It's how things have to be, Ice. I can't change them. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

He considered that for a moment, glaring daggers at her, before slowly sitting back down and lacing his fingers together. "All right," he said coldly. "What is it you want, then?"

Her nostrils flared. "I just wanted you to be a FRIEND," she muttered bitterly, moving to leave. "Obviously, that's too much to ask."

His hand closed around her wrist. "Sit…. DOWN."

She jerked her hand away. "NO. I don't need this from you, Ice. I need you to be there so I'm not alone because I can't be an island yet. But if all you're going to do is berate me for trying to do right by the rest of you, then you can go fuck yourself." She whirled and disappeared into the wildly strobing lights.

Irilisan, given the street name 'Ice' by those in awe of his power, rested his chin on his interlaced fingers and mused over her behavior. He was no telepath. He wished he was one. But all he could do was manipulate an element…. A very powerful element, but a rather paltry power. He eyed the frozen cylinder of ice in front of him and quietly began to shave bits off with his thumbnail, etching it, sculpting it. Art was one of his great loves, second to the water that he reveled in.

Sabbath Summer. Such a piece of work. If her sacrifice was necessary to accomplish the double-goal of getting rid of The One and thwarting Eszet, then she should sacrifice herself. He would not have done the same, but he was selfish.

He just knew that, as usual, no one would know the truth of her sacrifice or care. It was the way with martyrs, that no one else saw how much they were giving up, how much they kept bottled away to keep others around them happy.

But her plans, apparently, were still in motion. He needed to rework his own, expand them to include a distinct possibility, should the situation arise…

…the destruction of Schwarz.

X-X-X

"You shouldn't go out alone."

Sabbath didn't move, her chin propped on her curled fingers, her arms propped on her knees, staring at the water as though it held the answers to her dilemma. Nagi stopped a few steps behind her, watching her tensely, not entirely certain how she would react to his intrusion. He'd volunteered to go and find her, partially because of worry and partially because of a desire to escape the confines of their apartment. Farfarello was in one of his cutting moods and Schuldich was moping for whatever reason, which left Crawford in a less-than-pleasant frame of mind. And now here was Sabbath, very obviously depressed, sitting in an isolated area by herself and risking her life and their entire mission by doing so.

"We need you, you know. You're sort of the lynch-pin in this entire operation." He circled to the side of her, large cerulean eyes fixed on the pale curve of her cheek.

"You'd have an easy enough time destroying The One without me," she told him evenly. "I'm just… a figurehead. I'm not as important to you as I've made you believe I am."

Nagi smiled wryly. "But that's how you have to survive, isn't it? By making people think you're valuable to them?"

"Sometimes," she allowed, shifting slightly and letting out a slow breath. "But the definition of value changes so drastically from person to person… it's hard to cover all your bases and have anything of yourself left. I think I've lost sight of the people who are supposed to matter most to me."

"Your friends," he said, finally convinced that she wouldn't lash out at him and coming to sit beside her on the bench. "The other Inconnu. You haven't seen them in a while."

"Correction – I saw one of them tonight. One of my better friends. We go way back, but… but there's this distance now. I know I ought to listen to him. He's smart. But for some reason, I've got this feeling, like he's outside events and he can't see them like I see them."

Nagi considered that for a long moment. When he spoke, it was quietly and haltingly, as if he was unsure of his right to give advice. "Sometimes Schuldich tells us that a certain person needs to die. He says 'kill him', and either Crawford or Farfarello ends that person's life. Sometimes I think he might do that just because he likes to kill, but you have to admit, Schuldich sees things that the rest of us can't see. He sees the thoughts behind peoples' smiles, and he knows what's really going on in their heads. He knows if someone bows and scrapes and plots against us at the same time. We can't know that because we're not telepaths, so we just have to trust him, sometimes. You know things that your friend doesn't know about this situation, because you're inside it. Maybe he just needs to trust you."

"He doesn't trust easily," Sabbath murmured, looking almost pouty as she stared at the languid waves. "There's a lot about this situation that he doesn't trust."

"Can he trust you this time?"

"Oh, he trusts me. He trusts my motives, at very least. But he knows I'm not omnipotent. You could all be manipulating me to the detriment of the Inconnu and there's no law that says that just because I'm tight with a deity, I'd notice it."

He offered her a weak smile. "I'm sorry. But you should come back now. It's not safe out here."

"I know," she said quietly, and then, after a moment's silence, she rose to her feet. "Okay. Let's get going." She shoved her hands into her pockets, shivering in the cool breeze that blew in off the water, boots scraping softly on the sidewalk.

Nagi followed along, watching her walk, the way her shoulders hunched in a slightly protective manner. She huddled against something that wasn't the cold, and swayed in her walk a little more than she normally did. Some of her confidence seemed gone.

He hoped it wouldn't interfere with their work. But then again, Sabbath was a civilian, not Eszet. She was far more prone to weakness at inopportune times than any of Schwarz, and if she fell, well… there was nothing any of them could do.

X-X-X

"They encountered the arm here," Sabbath said evenly, drawing a small circle on a map of the Five Burroughs with a yellow highlighter. "And there have been other skirmishes here, here, here, here…." She continued to mark points, this time with a green highlighter. Clustered around the table, watching each other with blatant distrust that left the air thick and tingling with tension, were Crawford and Farfarello, Ice and Catria, Jake and his second-in-command, Lupe, Rel, who'd come alone and seemed the most at-ease of them all, and Ariadne with one of her cell, a tall, composed-looking young man with black hair and dark blue eyes whom she'd introduced as Nathan.

"We encountered them here," Nathan said quietly, placing a finger on a spot on the map near the yellow dot. "They took Ron and Thomas."

"We've been fighting them off in Brooklyn," Jake put in, one tanned finger tracing down the line of a street. "No losses so far this month, but Ash nearly got his throat ripped out. We haven't seen anything like whatever took out Griss and Jordan."

"But that doesn't mean it's not there," Rel said, sounding cheerful as usual. "They've got big guns and they only brought them out when you invaded their territory." She tapped the yellow dot. "So we should focus our search efforts here and try to find The Core." She glanced up at the people around her and smiled wryly. "And I just stated the obvious."

"Not necessarily," Sabbath said dryly. "We lost two psions to their biokinetic… war machine. I'm not sure we can afford to lose more. Griss and Jordan were fighters. I was counting on them to help lead our assault."

"Give me Fell," Ice said easily. "And I'll go."

The outburst was instantaneous. "Two is far too few to take into that kind of war zone," Jake snapped, while Ariadne muttered, "you're suicidally insane," and Crawford made a disapproving noise deep in his throat.

"Well, I'll go with them," Rel said with exasperation in her tone. "Three…." She glanced at Crawford and quickly changed her mind. "Three of us, with our Gifts, should be able to spy in and make it out alive."

"And if The One attacks you, what are you going to do? Any sort of disturbance will draw police attention," Catria pointed out, arms folded over the soft curves of her chest, violet eyes hard. "Which is the original problem we've had with this 'frontal assault' idea."

"But if we take the sewers," Rel suggested, grinning widely and sounding entirely TOO happy about that prospect, "we can raise as much hell as we like and keep it down below the streets."

"The sewers are their territory," Jake murmured. "They'll have tactical home advantage. Not to mention that you could just plain get lost – the sewers under the Bronx are like a maze. The City Office doesn't even bother with any of the layers below the first anymore, and even for that, they take lead lines."

"I'm not concerned," Ice said quietly. "Water always flows downhill. I'll be able to trace it back to its source."

"And if it comes down to it, I can always make us a way out," Rel said easily.

"And once we find The Core?" Lupe wondered, her hardened voice cutting through their thoughts. "What then? If it's obvious we've found it, they'll just move it, to protect it." She tucked a strand of chocolate-brown hair, only slightly darker than her skin, behind her ear. "We have to find it without them knowing we've found it, or the entire project is useless."

Jake nodded his assent. "But we can't find them without them knowing we've found them. We're stuck, ladies and gentlemen."

Most of the gathering let out a collective sigh and settled back on their heels to consider this. Crawford adjusted his glasses and flicked a strand of dark hair back from his face, his calculating blue eyes assessing the gathering coolly. As they scanned the slightly wan faces of those assembled, each one drawn in stress and lack of sleep, they settled on the one vivacious set of eyes to be found, those of Rel, who grinned at him. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she inquired.

He smirked slightly. "That we strike first and last, or strike not at all," he suggested. She nodded, offering him a matter-of-fact little half-shrug.

Sabbath hiked an eyebrow. "Combine our scouting and our attack? That's extremely risky. We have to find The Core and by that time, they'll know we're coming and they'll be able to mobilize against us. We'll end up fighting an all-out war before we even know where our special strike team needs to go."

"Then we combine our telepaths," Jake said simply, gold nose ring catching the light as he bent over the map. "We know they're concentrated below this four-block area. We know that Fell, Griss, and Jordan were headed in this direction following the trail. We know that Auspex Cell's telepaths were taking these blocks and following the trail this way before all hell broke loose, so we can narrow our search area down to this and all we need to focus on is going deeper underground."

"Easier said than done," Sabbath pointed out, tracing a finger along the map. "Sewers are like… like dungeons. Easy to trap, easy to spring ambushes from. And The One has showed some talent at coordination in the past. It'd be like stepping into the Borg hive and trying to find their transwarp engine. And we don't even have a map."

"I could obtain one," Crawford offered.

"Oh, look, Eszet proves helpful," Ice said dryly.

Crawford looked mildly irritated.

"More helpful than you've been," Sabbath said coldly. "Let's hear your great tactical expertise make some sense of the situation, Irilisan."

He eyed her for a moment and she glared back, dark eyes flashing with muted anger and catty daring. "Or I could walk out and let you deal with this on your own," he said dryly, folding his arms across his chest. "If you're going to be a bitch about it."

"Go, then," she said crisply, motioning toward the door of Schwarz's apartment. "You'll be the only ones left to deal with the fall-out when we fail. You're not a fucking island, no matter how much you want to be."

His eyes narrowed. "Do not," he said with deadly quiet, "test me, Sabbath. I will not play games with you."

"Then don't you test me," she returned, just as quietly, her voice thick with venom. "Because I will not back down just because you're Ice and you're a bad-ass. I could care less who you think you are."

"I thought I was your friend," he returned. "Am I not?"

"If you want to be a friend, ACT like a friend," she snapped. "Support me. Help me. Quit being such an arrogant son of a bitch and make some sort of investment."

He hiked an eyebrow at her. "I might be able to take out quite a few of The Collective at once," he said frankly. "It all depends."

"On what?" Jake inquired, looking slightly less tense now that Ice had apparently decided to throw his lot in with them.

Ice turned a glittering smile on Ariadne. "On how much water I have to work with."

She blinked. "You… want…"

"Tell Dylan to do whatever he needs to do to make it rain. Not just rain, POUR. I want a monsoon. I want water over the curb in the streets and cars unable to navigate. I want a storm like nothing New York has seen in centuries."

She looked quietly appalled. "That…"

"Will give me just the hammer I'll need to break their defense and soften them up a little before we go in ourselves."

"We'll be bottlenecking ourselves anyway," Rel pointed out, "in the confines of a sewer system. How are we going to spread our forces?"

"We wait for a map," Sabbath said tiredly, eyeing Crawford, who simply nodded and straightened his tie. "How fast can you have it?"

"Within an hour," he said evenly, pulling out his cell phone and flicking it open.

She nodded. "Then when we have our map, we start our plans."

"And until then," Rel said brightly, "we wait!"

X-X-X


	19. Chapter 19

"So, what have we got?"

Cross pushed the chair away from the computer desk with his feet and draped across it as it spun around, sighing and tossing a manila folder in his partner's direction. It sailed in a graceful arch and plopped down on the glass-covered coffee table, its contents sliding partially out and showing the edges of black lettering against white paper. "They're up to SOMETHING but damned if I can fathom what," he said tiredly, rubbing his tired eyes. "They've been meeting with a group of people who, as far as I can tell, have absolutely nothing to do with Takatori."

"Well, they could have something to do with Eszet," Calan pointed out, tapping the edges of the documents back under the cover of the folder compulsively.

Cross shook his head. "I was able to I.D. two of them. This is Gabrielle McGregor," he said, tapping the picture of a lively-looking girl with dark hair and eyes. "She was reported missing by her parents four years ago in Los Angeles, and now she turns up here. Her parents are professors. They've got no connection with Eszet, and as far as I can tell, she's not one of their agents. And this," he said, tapping another picture, "is Jake Delano. He's been involved in some gang activity, but hasn't committed any crimes that the NYPD could actually pin on him. Went underground about a year and a half ago and surfaces now, here. He's never left the country."

"So he's never been to Rosenkreuz," Calan ascertained, and Cross nodded.

"Neither of them have. As far as I can tell, they're connected through this girl, and she's somehow connected to the massacre a few days ago in the Bronx. All these threads connect somewhere, I just can't see the knot," he complained, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.

Calan considered that, fingering the earpiece of his glasses thoughtfully. "Let's make it simple. These two people who are connected to the girl go down to the Bronx. Something attacks them, something the police haven't identified yet. Some kind of monster. We've got all sorts of clandestine meetings between this girl's scene and Schwarz. A mutual enemy, maybe? An element we're not seeing?"

"A secret," Cross said, remembering Calan's reading. "Something we don't understand."

"A truth putting our assumptions to lie," Calan said, flicking his fingers and producing the Tower and Moon cards. "A strange alliance."

"So there is some sort of other enemy," Cross said ponderously, drumming his fingers against his lower lip. "And two of Schwarz has been meeting with all these people for several hours now. After that attack on Farfarello and the girl earlier this week…."

"There's definitely another player in this equation. Now we just have to figure out what and who it is."

"I've got Schuldich under surveillance," Cross said, "but I can't watch him constantly. Where do we want to go from here? Do we get involved or stand back?"

Calan considered that for a long moment, sitting back on the plush couch and folding one denim-covered leg over another. His large hands laced together, the glasses dangling between them, and eventually his eyes flicked back to Cross's.

"I think we should tag them," he said simply. "We might as well throw our two cents in. At the very least, we could collect some info or something while they're distracted with this other thing."

Cross sighed and nodded. "All right. But you realize that Schu's got us pegged now. If we get too close, he'll spot us in a heartbeat."

Calan smirked. "And here I thought you wanted to see him again."

"I want to fight him again," Cross admitted. "And I want to fuck him again. But something tells me another meeting would be just a little more complicated than that."

"Something like common sense?"

"Yeah," he said ruefully. "Something like."

Calan smiled helplessly. "Oh well. Hazards of the occupation. Besides, you have Yuka. What do you need that psycho telepath for?"

"Variety is the spice of life," Cross told him imperiously, unable to hold back a grin. "So, are we moving, then?"

He nodded. "… Yeah. We're moving if it means ending this conversation before it dives headlong into the realm of Too Much Information."

Cross nodded. "I'll suit up. Meet you across the street from their hotel in an hour."

Calan nodded and rose. "See you there."

X-X-X

Sabbath sat down on her bed wearily and rubbed her temples, elbows digging small dents into her thighs. So far, so good. So far, the Inconnu and Schwarz were treating each other with distant respect. She didn't count on it lasting, but it didn't need to last long. Everything was crashing down so fast, they wouldn't have time to start fighting with each other.

"Do you have the power you need?"

She jumped and glanced at the doorway where Farfarello stood, leaning back against the closed door. She hadn't even heard him come in, though that wasn't really a surprise by now. "I don't know," she admitted. "There's no such thing as too much, at this point, but I haven't had the chance to collect much…."

"You've been taking it from me," he said succinctly, watching her with his head slightly tilted. "From us. Our coupling produces power that you've been drawing upon."

She nodded. "Yeah, pretty much. Hope you don't mind."

He ignored that. "Then, if you need more, the way to build it is obvious."

She laughed. "With this many people in the house? Sorry, Farf, but I'm really not an exhibitionist. The idea is a good one, but…."

"But you are embarrassed. Is your modesty worth your life?"

She swallowed and stared at him. "…In some situations, I'd be inclined to say 'yes'. But not in this one."

"Then deafen them to this room, as you did before," he told her, leaving the doorway and stalking toward her. "And let us see what we can accomplish in an hour." His lips curved up in a slight smirk, and she picked up a pillow to hurl at him. He batted it aside and she rolled her eyes.

"You're insatiable. And obvious."

"I'm many things," he said simply, unconcerned. He stopped at the foot of the bed. "Deafen them."

"I can't guarantee that I'll be able to…"

In a blur of movement, he was holding her tightly against the mattress and straddling her awkwardly twisted body. "Deafen them," he whispered in her ear, thumbs digging painfully into her wrists.

She gave up and reached out with her will, summoning the Circle.

Farfarello smiled, found her shoulder, and bit down.

X-X-X

"I don't like this," Scythe told his leader, eyeing Ice with his arms folded across his chest and his stern features hard. "There are too many loose threads. Too many variables we haven't tied up."

"I'm well aware," Ice told him from his position on their much-abused couch, in front of the flickering TV screen. "But our options are irritatingly limited. Have our spies discovered anything of note?"

"A few clues," the mutated telekinetic informed him. "There are a few signs of habitation."

"Four blocks in The Bronx is still a sizable area. Not nearly precise enough for a coordinated strike," Ice told him, staring evenly at the television without really seeing it, his blue eyes silvered in concentration. "And what about our other spies?"

Scythe paused before shrugging. "It's as you thought between the two of them. Otherwise, we've got nothing to work with. Getting close is impossible, with that telepath."

Ice nodded slowly and his jaw worked thoughtfully. "Schwarz thinks they will be in control of this strike," he told Scythe. "But they will be in error. Control will be in OUR hands. Get a hold of Rel and Jake. I want to speak to them privately as soon as possible."

"Done," the dark-haired man said, nodding briefly before turning on his heel to make it so.

From her spot in the corner, Catria fixed dark violet eyes on Ice. "Is it wise cutting Sabbath out of the loop?" she wondered.

"More wise than keeping her in it. She's being used, but I don't intend to let that happen to us," Ice said crisply, rising and pacing toward her. "She thinks she's going to make some sort of noble, martyr-like sacrifice for the good of all Inconnu. And while I am most decidedly NOT happy with that, her life is hers to throw away as she wishes. I know she's fully stupid enough to go through with it, so we'll plan for that."

"We should stop it, if we can," Catria protested. The sisterhood of witches was something barely understood by those who weren't a part of it, and the idea of standing aside and letting Sabbath die sat very poorly with her. "You care about Sabbath, you can't just let her kill herself…."

The sheer, bracing coldness of Ice's stare stole the words from her lips, and the breath from her lungs. "I can, and will, do whatever I need to do to minimalize casualties on OUR end. If Sabbath Williams wants to truck with the enemy, she can do that. But the Inconnu are not going to be destroyed in the process. I will not allow it."

Struggling and succeeding to recover her aplomb, Catria countered, "that's unusually altruistic, for you. What do you care about the Inconnu as a whole? Or, for that matter, about anyone other than yourself?"

Ice offered her a chilling smile. "My dear, the Inconnu stay together for one reason, and one reason only – survival. I have no interest in dying, being assimilated, or being sent off to Rosenkreuz to be reprogrammed as Eszet sees fit. No matter how powerful some of us are, alone, we would swiftly be overpowered."

"You're clever enough to evade them," she shot back, eyes narrowing. "I don't trust you…"

"Good. Then you've an ounce of intelligence in that pretty head of yours," Ice purred.

"You're an ass." Catria's jaw tightened and her fingernails dug into her palms.

"Indeed," Ice agreed, "but I'm an ass who is also your cell leader, and you will do as I say. My motives are not important. What is important is that I am allowing the sacrifice of one person in order to save the lives of several dozen. Even you should see the necessity of that."

"The necessity…" she repeated, eyes closing in frustration as she drew in a slow breath. When she spoke again, it was quietly, silk-wrapped steel in her tone. "Yes. I see it."

"Then we have an understanding," Ice said, sounding pleased as he turned and left her there, padding toward the doorway. "There are others, whom you care about, who will die if we don't cover our asses. Weigh their lives against hers and tell me what YOUR calculations come up with."

She leaned back against the plaster with a dull thump as he left her there, skull pressing against its cool hardness. It was a typical case of the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the one, but that didn't mean she needed to like it. In fact, she hated it. Her conscience couldn't rest with either option. There had to be a better way.

If there is one, she told herself, fingers digging into the wall slightly, You had better find it. And soon. Before the whole world goes to hell.

X-X-X

The room was mostly dark, and slightly damp, lit only by one flickering overhead light. There was a rickety card table beneath the lamp, surrounded by mismatched chairs. Spread across the table was a much-abused map covered with markings in different colored highlighter, most of them centered in one area. Colored markers were scattered across it, and a small, disorganized pile of grid maps was scattered near one corner. Crawford had outdone himself.

Ice gazed into two sets of dark eyes, one blue, one brown, and deliberately interlaced his fingers. "We are the three most experienced Inconnu leaders on the east coast," he said without preamble. "If any strategizing is going to be done, it needs to be done by us. I refuse to let Eszet call the shots."

"Do we know where they are?" Jake asked immediately, and Ice shook his head.

"We narrow the location down by the hour, but progress is slow and there are many levels for our spies to search."

"The risk of detection makes things tough," Rel put in, not sounding at all bothered by this. "Besides, in the words of Sun Tzu, 'When real battle is joined, plans become useless, but planning is indispensable'. Setting goals and establishing parameters for this encounter will only help us in the long run." She offered the boys a manic grin.

Ice smirked back at her. "Well said. And while our eyes and ears hone in on the precise location of The Hive, I've got a few ideas that may help us storm their gates even if we don't know precisely where the castle sits." He ran a finger down along a blue line on one of the grid maps. "This sewage tunnel was blocked off by the city fifty years ago when it became too dangerous for workers to go so deep into the system. Squatters lived down there, and vagrants, criminals escaped from various institutions who formed an entire society. Many have based novels upon the phenomenon – I'm sure you're at least passing familiar with it."

Jake nodded. "There's been no suspicious activity amongst the homeless lately. If they'd been ousted, wouldn't we know?"

"Not if they've been assimilated," Rel offered, but Ice shook his head.

"All the One I've ever seen have been wearing suits. Ties. Clothes WE don't have. They were clean shaven and straight-postured, like Jehovah's Witnesses. I think they came from somewhere else, not from homeless wanderers. But their origins don't concern me at the moment. It's more likely that all the homeless in this area are dead or in servitude. We'll anticipate them, but I don't think we'll have to deal with them. In any case, that's not the point. The point is, there are limited access ways to this particular area of sewer. Access ways that can be closed off. Or flooded."

"Flood ninety percent of the bolt-holes," Jake said instantly, perking up. "And we use the remaining ones, insuring that they have no retreat."

"They'll tear through us, then," Rel cautioned, but Ice shook his head.

"They will, but they aren't people anymore, with feelings and fears and ambitions. They won't be able to drive themselves to greater heights just because they're pinned down. Besides which, we'll be moving in on the tail of our water assault. Hopefully, I'll be able to drown a good number of them on the first sweep."

"So we lead with a monsoon," Jake said evenly, standing to examine the map more closely. "And what then? How do we coordinate this?"

"Ariadne's an idiot," Ice said flatly, "but she's got some good psions on her team. Dylan, for one, Nathan for another." A low staccato drumming began even as he spoke, the sound of thousands of small droplets of water hitting a steel roof. "Unfortunately, I don't know much about the rest of them. But I think we should resist the temptation to cluster our Wild Powers together. Schwarz is the only group that needs to get in deep. The rest of us can keep them busy at the fringes, leaving us a retreat route as soon as the One is destroyed."

"Or in case of failure," Rel pointed out.

"Then we should stick cell to cell," Jake mused. "We know our cell members better. We're used to fighting together. It will also give us a better spread of Talents across the board if we don't concentrate all our fighters in one place."

"We may have to mix it up a little," Rel protested. "There ought to be someone with the Healing talent, or at least pain-numbing, in each assault group."

"Damn Rasce for killing himself," Ice muttered. "He was the best healer I've ever seen."

"We've still got Catria, Katerina, and Nathan."

"Three healers between five cells, six counting Schwarz? I don't like those numbers."

"We could set up a rear post," Rel suggested. "Stick them behind the rest and bring people back to them for healing. But that would deaden our attack strength, having people move both ways."

"So how do we handle this?" Ice murmured, chewing on his lower lip as he considered it.

Jake shrugged. "I say, all or nothing. We charge in, we kill everything we see, we commit ourselves whole-heartedly to the attack knowing that we may all die in our tracks. It's the only way we, with inferior numbers, are going to have any chance of overwhelming them. Never underestimate the driving power of commitment… there can BE no turning back, no stopping, no faltering. We devote everything to one assault."

"And if we fail?" Ice wondered.

Rel grinned. "We'll be too dead to care! I like it – it's got a certain samurai air about it."

Ice smiled wryly. "It's got a certain seppuku air about it," he corrected sardonically. "But I agree on all counts. It would severely hamper our effectiveness if we had troops moving forward and backward, and increase the temptation to stay away from the front. We take whatever weapons we have and we go in head-first."

"I'll take Raven's Gleaning in the front," Rel offered, placing one slender finger on the tunnel she had decided was 'front'. "We've got blasting power. We'll hit hard and fast and punch through any defenses they might already have up."

"Want to carry a standard as well?" Ice joked, and all three of them laughed.

"This tunnel goes straight down," she said. "We'll drop through it and see if we can't take the fight straight to their heart. Give us about ten minutes to draw them into the bottleneck. Then we've got these tunnels here and here that come in from west and northeast. Send Auspex down one and Midnight down the other. We'll be able to flank them here and here…" she drew quick circles with the pink highlighter, "and hopefully open up their rear guard for Schwarz to slip in here." She made a green star on that tunnel. "Schwarz is going to want to move in with as much stealth as possible, so it might be prudent to see if we can cloak them, somehow."

"I could," Jake said, "Lupe can handle our group just fine while I hide Schwarz."

"And you're willing to do that?" Ice inquired. "Can you cover your own ass if they turn on us?"

Jake nodded, raising his voice a little as the drumming rain grew louder and louder. "Should I try to see if I can get Sabbath out of there as well?"

"Let Sabbath worry about herself," Rel said. "Or let the Schwarz berserker worry about her, if he's so inclined. If everybody rushes in to save Sabbath, we're going to have a serious problem."

"She doesn't want to be saved," Ice told them. "Leave her be. I'm more concerned about how many of The One we can destroy and how many of our own people we can take out of there alive. Once Schwarz nails the Core, assuming they succeed, the battle is NOT over. We'll need to take advantage of their confusion and bring as much of our powers to bear as possible. We have to wipe them out."

"Agreed," Jake murmured. "So if we're closing off all tunnels besides these and swamping them, they'll have no retreat except through us…."

"Which serves our double-purpose," Rel concluded with a cackle. "One way in, no way out."

"Will you be able to fight and hold up barriers at the same time?" Jake wondered, eyeing Ice dubiously.

Ice shook his head. "I'll freeze them in place, if possible, so I won't have to worry about them so much during the fight. What's the status on our weapons?"

"Since Griss died, we switched responsibility for upgrades onto Kaiya, from Midnight cell," Rel told him. "And Mars, from mine. They've made some good progress in the last couple of days, so we should have suitable firepower whenever we're ready to move out."

"Which will be in a couple of hours if this rain keeps up," Ice said approvingly. "Somebody make a note to congratulate Dylan on being prompt. So, we'll share these plans with Schwarz accordingly, since we'll have to coordinate with them. But afterward… Rel, I'm assuming you'll retreat to New Orleans?"

She nodded. "Yep. No safer place for us than the bayou. I'd like to see Eszet find their way through THAT place alive." She offered Ice a nasty grin, which he returned.

"We'll move west," Jake said, "probably to Detroit. Lupe is originally from there and she knows the city well. We'll cloak ourselves under the general unrest of the ghetto and see if we can disappear from Eszet's radar."

"And we'll stay here," Ice said with finality. "To make sure that any surviving fractures of The One are destroyed before they can multiply."

"Risky," Rel cautioned. "Eszet will…"

"Eszet will leave us alone if they know what's good for them," Ice said serenely. "Besides, they'll have to find us first. And I intend to make that very costly for them."

"And Midnight?"

"If Ariadne survives, she'll take care of her own Cell. If she doesn't, we'll absorb them, just like we've always done."

"Then it's time to talk to the others," Jake said quietly, tilting his head upward toward the pouring rain. "And get this show on the road."

X-X-X


	20. Chapter 20

The clouds were an angry, steel gray underlined with black and the low rumble of thunder shook the windows even as lightning bleached the visual purple from Sabbath's eyes, destroying her night vision anew at five second intervals. She didn't react, leaning against the edge of the window and staring out into the pouring rain. This was what Ice had wanted, and the fact that it was here drove home the fact that they had come to the end – it was now or never. Either they did this or… or what? Or they died? They ran away? They bowed down and allowed themselves to be assimilated into The One's collective consciousness? She didn't like any of those options, though she had to admit that any and all of them were likely to happen when they engaged The One anyway.

Behind her, an analog-tuning radio played a fuzzy rendition of 'Unwell', by Matchbox twenty, and something about listening to the song made her want to cry. She wouldn't, of course. She was better than that. "But soon enough, you're going to see a different side of me…."

"What's that, your intestines?" Schuldich wondered with a nasal laugh.

Sabbath didn't respond, mouthing the words absently under her breath. The glass of the window was cool against her forehead, which was throbbing in time with the pounding of her heart. Oh, yeah. She was scared. She forced herself not to mentally berate her heart for thumping so loudly, since Schuldich would doubtlessly overhear it and take it as another invitation to chisel away at her self esteem.

Schu watched her watch the storm, catlike blue eyes narrowed in appraisal. He could taste her fear like the metallic musk of blood on his tongue, but that wasn't exactly sending him into spasms of joy. After all, she was the one this entire godforsaken farce of an operation centered around. He didn't know exactly what her plan was to destroy The Core, but she'd made it clear that she was the only one who could do it. Magick and psionics, it would seem, did not mix.

And then there was the little matter of her eventual fate.

Crawford had been less than informative on the subject, though Schuldich knew that was deliberate. Eszet had a hand in this directly, somehow, and they didn't want the rest of Schwarz knowing their plans. Why was that? Schu doubted that it was because of him. He didn't care one way or another what happened to the witch. Nagi was a bit soft on her, perhaps, but he didn't see Nagi making a stink about anything Eszet chose to do. Farfarello, then? They had to have something truly drastic in mind for that to be the case. He listened more than most people knew (it was his job, after all) and he thought he might know. If that was the case, he couldn't help pitying her just a bit.

Rosenkreuz was a fate he wouldn't have wished on his worst enemy.

He didn't doubt that she would fight their efforts to steal and clone her power. He also didn't doubt that she would eventually be broken. He knew what it was to be under Eszet's knife, and if it hadn't been for Crawford, he might have suffered a great deal more before they were satisfied with his subservience. He still retained the capability of independent thought, which was quite an accomplishment for any Rosenkreuz graduate. He doubted she would be so lucky. Granted, she was a born survivor. But Eszet had broken worse.

None the less, it was the fate she had chosen. And if she had hoped he would figure out her hints and somehow rescue her, she was going to be sadly disappointed. He wandered toward the window and leaned against the opposite sill, also eyeing the storm that was, apparently, about to be their primary weapon. "Having second thoughts?" he wondered silkenly, unable to hold back a wicked smirk. "After all, there's no happy ending for you, is there? Either you lose your soul, you lose your life, or you lose your freedom and your mind. Such lovely choices. I'm surprised you picked the latter, given your beliefs, but who am I to judge…?"

"I feel like doing something disgustingly sentimental," she said, her voice low and dead. "Like asking you to take good care of Farf after I get shuttled off, or saying something noble about how I don't hate you even if you hate me. It feels like if these are the last minutes of calm before the storm, I ought to be doing something significant with them."

He lit a cigarette, watching the flame's reflection on the dripping windowpane, and pocketed the lighter while inhaling the sweet scent of nicotine. "Well, for the record, I don't hate you. You're not worth it. And I don't care if you hate me, because again, you're not worth it. As for Farf, he takes care of himself just fine and I somehow doubt he'll mourn you."

She chuckled. "I'm not right for him anyway," she said with an apathetic shrug.

Schuldich snorted. "Is anyone?"

"You might be."

"Hn." He couldn't resist smiling at that. "Well, I suppose anything is possible. And it WOULD be nice not to have to leave the house for sex anymore…."

She chuckled. "There's always that."

They stood in silence for a moment. Schu would have loved to pick apart her thoughts, but her mind was unusually blank. It was as though her thoughts were smothered by a heavy blanket. No wondering, no dreading, no anticipating, no strategizing, just… waiting. Waiting for the hammer to fall.

It fell in the form of the apartment door swinging open and smacking into the wall behind it. Ice strode in, and Schuldich spared a moment to ogle his half-naked body and the tattoos that so perfectly graced his chest and shoulders before the rest of the Inconnu filed in.

"We're ready when you are," the Isa Cell leader purred, and Schuldich smirked.

Bradley, he sent, his mental voice sweet as sugar, Your troops are assembled.

Don't call me Bradley, Crawford sent back instinctively, even as he set down whatever he'd been doing and headed for the living room.

Meanwhile, Sabbath slipped back into the bedroom. Schuldich got the distinct impression that she didn't want to speak to her cryokinetic friend.

"Severe thunderstorm warnings in effect for the Five Burroughs," Ice said as he crossed to the window, obviously relishing the downpour. "Flooding, downed power lines, total chaos…."

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Schuldich sidled away from the window and flopped onto the couch. "Watch the rats scramble to escape a sinking ship…."

"Rats are survivors," Ice said negligently, fingertips pressing against the dripping glass. "There'll be more than enough of them left when the storm passes."

"Wow, so complimentary, the both of you," Rel said, straddling the arm of a chair and bouncing up and down on it. She was still smiling. "You'd think you hated non-psis or something."

"Frankly, my dear, I hate the entire human race," Ice said dryly. He glanced back outside, unnaturally blue eyes narrowed. "A flood wiped them out once. Is it so much to hope it might happen twice?"

"Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice," Rel sing-songed, still bouncing on the chair. "From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire…."

"BUT," Ice interjected with a smirk, holding up one finger. "IF it had to perish twice… I think I know enough of hate to know that for destruction, ice is also great, and would suffice."

"It's a flawed metaphor," Farfarello said softly, causing several of the Inconnu to jump, startled. Ice merely flicked those frigid eyes in his direction. "Desire and hatred can go hand in hand, but fire and ice will cancel out each other." The Schwarz berserker stood against the doorframe of Sabbath's room, clad as usual in black leather. Pinkish foam tinged his lips and a sliver of metal protruded from between them at intervals as his jaw worked.

"Fortunately for them," Schuldich put in, smirking broadly at Farfarello's appearance and waving a hand toward the window that looked out over the city, "desire and hatred only mix in combustive amounts in true psychopaths. I love you, I hate you, I want you, I want to kill you… round and round the mulberry bush, eh Farfie?"

"Desire is a more base form of love, lust the twisting of God's gift to mankind. To mix it so liberally with pain and hate…" he drew in a slow breath as if savoring a scent only he could detect. "It must pain him so…."

It would have been a very creepy moment had Rel not chosen that instant to fall off the chair with a thump and a squeak. "I'm okay!" she announced brightly as she bounced to her feet and plopped right back onto the chair. Schuldich stared at her as though she had suddenly grown a second head, while Ice and Catria chuckled to themselves.

The apartment door opened again and the living room, though spacious, began to fill up as all the available seats were quickly taken and spots found on the floor. Deciding that enough of them were assembled to warrant some effort on his part, Ice placed the confiscated maps on the coffee table and spread them out as the Inconnu huddled around them. Crawford arrived then, politely working his way through the swiftly-growing crowd until he could sit near the table. He gamely ignored the soft fall of raven-black hair at the edge of his vision as Fell peered over his shoulder, and eyed the markings the Inconnu had made on the map.

"I assume you've made your plans," Crawford said dryly, and Ice inclined his head in affirmation.

"We'll take on The One with everything we've got. Jake will go along with you and Sabbath to hide you from The One, hopefully enabling you to strike deep and avoid casualties. We thought this tunnel," he said, fingers brushing quietly over the map. "Limited side access and, if we send in teams here, here, and here, it will be flanking."

Crawford eyed the map for a moment while Ice eyed him, then withdrew a pen from his pocket. "Here's what I'd rather do…"

As the two self-appointed generals argued over the niceties of their respective plans, Nagi slipped past the cramped gathering of psions and pushed open the door to Sabbath's room, dodging an inquisitive glance from Farfarello as he stepped inside. Pulling the door shut behind him, he looked around the room, wrinkling his nose as the scent of frankincense made him want to sneeze. The door to the bathroom was shut and he could hear her moving around inside, and when she stepped out, he smiled in confusion. "What's that on your forehead?"

"Something that's going to help make me Kali," she replied succinctly, striding across the room to where her leather bomber jacket had been tossed carelessly on the rumpled bed.

"You look like a gang member," he said quietly, eyeing her red and black leather attire. "And what do you mean by 'make you Kali'? I thought Kali was a goddess."

"Gods and goddesses," Sabbath said as she thrust her arms into the jacket and pushed the sleeves up, "are not people. They are names to put onto forces of nature, because what you can name, you can control. They are faces and personalities behind greater concepts. Kali is not a person. Kali is a state of mind."

"But you said you talk to her," he said, having difficulty processing what seemed to be a very abrupt change in beliefs. "You said she…"

"And she does," Sabbath cut him off, "because, just as a person can become an ideal, an ideal can also become a persona. And now, that persona is an ideal that I am about to take as my own. In the hope that somehow, somewhat, it will do me some good."

"Which is why you have paint on your forehead."

She swept up a small crystal box from the bedside table, wrapped an elastic hair tie around it, and dropped it in her inner jacket pocket. Even though Nagi only saw the thing for a fleeting second, in the brief moment it registered on his retinas, a low THRUMMMM echoed through him. It seemed to come from the soles of his feet and vibrate its way up his body, and he gave himself a shake to be rid of it, eyeing the bulge in Sabbath's jacket with suspicion. "What is that?"

"It's too late to be asking questions," she said with a sigh, patting his shoulder as she brushed past him. "We're committed… all that's left now is to go forth and do."

"Are you afraid?"

She paused in mid-step, hands almost to the doorknob. "Really truly?"

He didn't see a reason to reconfirm that, so he merely waited.

"Yes. I've been thinking it can't be good to be this scared for this long, because sooner or later my heart will explode from the stress. But the anticipation is the worst part, the wondering and the waiting and all that. If we could just get out there and do it, I think I'd be okay. Adrenaline… it's an amazing thing. When you're pumped on it, a lot of things that should matter, like pain, or living, or dying… just don't matter at the moment."

"It's going to be a slaughter," he said truthfully.

"Then I guess I'm going to be really well acquainted with death," she said with a heavy sigh. "And it's more than I ever wanted to be, but hey. That's life." She scuffed a thick-soled boot against the carpet and shrugged. "What can you do except take what comes?"

"And what are you going to do when the dust settles?" he wondered.

She grinned. "Why? Planning to ask me out for coffee?"

He frowned. "I'm serious. So we go out and we defeat The One. What next? I know where we go from there because we have a standing appointment. But you…."

"Oh, don't worry about me," she said, just a bit too flippantly to set his mind at ease. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"What about Farfarello?" he asked quietly.

Sabbath paused with her hand on the door knob and eyed him, a wry and somewhat sad smile on her face. Nagi suddenly noticed that one cheek bore a slight discoloration, the blue tinge of a bruise. He wondered when she had gotten it, and who from, and how long ago. "Look," she told him in a very maternal tone, "this entire fiasco with all of you has been one hell of an adventure. Something I never thought I'd get to be part of, I guess, my big chance to save the world and be a hero. But I realized something recently – the reason heroes are so scarce in our world is that they're not as wonderful as the storybooks make them out to be. Kill the dragon, rescue the princess, live happily ever after. But what about the next dragon? And the next? What about your new bride, waiting at home and wondering when you'll come back, or if you'll come back? What about injuries? They never show the knight returning home without one of his arms or legs. What if the knight decides to retire with his wife and raise children? All the people will resent him for it, because he selfishly chose his own happiness over theirs. Heroes, by their very nature, are constantly forced to make hard and dangerous decisions. Fairy Tales spread glitter over the old stories, but it's not that easy, and I… I have never done anything to deserve any sort of prince. Not that Farf is that. Maybe at the beginning, I was looking for a happily-ever-after."

"Not anymore," he ascertained, eyeing her steadily.

She shrugged. "What does my happily-ever-after matter in the grand scheme of things? I could selfishly grab onto all the shiny things you guys brought into my life. I could set myself up as some sort of leader, or genius, or heroine, and try to live my life on the edge of the blade. But ultimately, that sort of life would just revolve around me, and I'm only one of six billion people who are no more and no less important. And maybe someday, you will tell this story to YOUR kids, and they'll ask what happened to me after we slew the evil psychics. And you'll say 'she lived happily ever after'. But it won't be the truth, just like it's never been the truth. It's a device to give people hope that there is peace at the end of all things."

"Don't you think there is peace?" he asked softly.

Her dark eyes met his cerulean blue ones and softened. "In life, I don't think there will ever be true peace, for anyone. In death, though…."

"You think you're going to die."

"It doesn't matter if I do," she told him firmly. "If I live, I'll take that path. If I die, I'll take that one."

"But YOU think you're going to die."

She looked down. "I think I'm going to be faced with the unpleasant consequences of my tough choices. But you talk about death as though it's a bad thing. I'm not afraid of it."

"Then what's scaring you about this? They can't steal your body. You told me, it wouldn't do them any good."

"We all do things in our lives for which people remember us," Sabbath explained quietly. "Things that make us immortal, or give meaning to our names. I'm going to die someday anyway, and leave behind this name and this body. But as a matter of pride, I'd really rather NOT have people say 'she died a failure'. It would set a bad tone for my next time around."

Nagi didn't look at all comforted by any of this, but he remained quiet when Sabbath pulled open the bedroom door and stepped out into the living room, shutting him in with the dim light of a stormy evening and the pungent scent of frankincense.

X-X-X

Cross poked Calan and sat up straight, peering out the window of the coffee shop they'd chosen to set up surveillance in. "Heads up," he said quietly, reaching for the large duffle bag at his feet. "Schwarz is leaving with a crowd."

Calan, who had been reading a newspaper and drinking hot tea, glanced over and quickly folded up his paper. "Some of them look familiar…."

"They've been slipping in in groups of two and three for the past several hours," Cross realized, black eyes narrowing as he pushed his chair back and picked up his empty Styrofoam cup. "Damn. Look at this… it's an ARMY. Where do you think they found an army?"

"I'd be more concerned with what they need an army for," Calan said blandly as he also stood up and hoisted a matching duffle bag. "You drive while I change."

"Done." Cross dropped his cup in the trash on the way out, and Calan followed suite as they made a mad dash through the downpour for their vehicle.

X-X-X

Schuldich stepped out into the driving rain. The streets were almost deserted thanks to the water that stood several inches deep between opposite curbs, and the bits of hail that pelted down along with the water. Schu didn't know who Dylan was, but the boy had certainly outdone himself with this little display. He drew the hood of his raincoat up over his feathery hair. He could FEEL the electricity in the air, electricity that spiked briefly as lightning split the blackness of the sky and brought with it an ear-popping crash of thunder.

Farfarello didn't mind getting drenched, and stood easily next to Schuldich, a pale ghost clad in black leather and Kevlar. The rain trailed over his lean muscles, detouring across his scars in a way that only made them more stark. Schu flipped his wrist over and checked his watch – it was nine. They needed to be in position and moving in at ten o' clock. The movement of nearby bodies and the echoes of the minds that went with them only lent to his sense of being lost in a storm of chaos. Somewhat unconsciously, he slid closer to Farfarello, whose quiet and alien mind was the only familiar thing in the cacophony of falling raindrops, thunder, and thoughts. He could hear the metallic sound of rivers flowing into the sewers, and thought with a smirk that Ice wouldn't have much trouble causing a flood.

He felt another familiar presence behind him and turned, only to laugh at the sight of Crawford dressed almost to match Farfarello. He wore heavy pants and Kevlar with a many-pocketed jacket over it, and Schuldich reminded himself that Crawford was a trained Eszet field agent, fully capable of mounting an assault or defending against one. Crawford wore suits so often that Schu sometimes forgot that he was as lethal with his hands as he was with his advice.

"The Rambo look is a good one for you, Bradley," he cackled, as Crawford shot him an annoyed glance. "I like it. Very urban jungle."

Crawford adjusted the twin shoulder holsters in which he carried his firearms and then straightened the cuffs of his jacket in a fastidious way that was so like him, it made Schuldich laugh again. "Let's get going," he said shortly. "We only have an hour to make it to The Bronx in this weather."

"As much as I hate to be the one to point this out," Schu drawled, draping an arm around Farfarello's shoulders, "we're missing one crucial element."

"I'm here," Sabbath said firmly from behind him, and Schuldich turned.

"Oh. There you are. Forgive my overlooking you, but you are rather… short…."

"Bite me, Schuldich," Sabbath said cheerfully. Schuldich rolled his eyes at the poor come-back, then did a double-take.

"What is THAT?"

Sabbath hiked a dry eyebrow. "After living in Japan for as many years as you have, I would think you could recognize a katana."

"But why do you HAVE it? Don't tell me you know how to use it," he sneered, thinking of Fujimiya Aya and his extremely… well, 'straightforward' would have been the kind way to describe his style. The word 'reckless' would probably have been even more accurate.

"Not in the slightest," she admitted a bit sheepishly. "I always hoped to take kendo lessons, but never had the money or the time. But I couldn't help feeling like it'd be stupid to go down there unarmed, so I'm bringing it with me."

"This isn't a video game," Crawford said severely, frowning at her. "If you don't know how to use it, you're better off without it. We don't have the luxury of starting over if you make a fatal mistake."

"I won't cut off my own foot," Sabbath shot back, hugging the wood-sheathed blade close to her chest. "Or yours."

"You don't even know how to CARRY it," Schuldich pointed out, upper lip curled.

Farfarello pivoted gracefully on one foot and brought the other down on Schuldich's toe, prompting a string of very colorful swearing. "We're wasting time," he pointed out, and Crawford, with one more disapproving look at Sabbath, sighed and relented.

"Then let's move on before we drown," he ordered, stepping off the curb and into the shallow river that the streets of the island had become.

As the Inconnu spread out and hurried toward their posts, Jake Delano, in torn jeans and an equally torn-up denim jacket, fell in beside Sabbath. She glanced up and him and smiled slightly, knowing very well that he was sticking close to her as the only bastion of familiarity and reliability amongst the wild card deck that was Schwarz. He moved uneasily, obviously unwilling to trust them, his eyes on Farfarello's back as the pale Irishman moved liquidly next to Schuldich's sauntering figure.

Sabbath slid her arm through his and swerved to bump against his side. "It'll be okay," she assured him under her breath. "They've got as much at stake as we do."

"A snake stands to lose as much from a drought as a mouse," Jake told her. "But I wouldn't trust that snake if I was staring it in the eye."

"You know how to watch your back," she said, smiling firmly at him. "All you have to do is get us in and get out."

"And hope I can get back to my team before it's too late."

"Lupe's as good a leader as you are. They'll be fine." They ducked under the sheltering roof of the parking garage where their rented car was kept, Crawford drawing from his pocket the remote start mechanism and triggering it. From across the garage, the car gave an answering chirp and the engine turned over obediently. It was a simple black four-door sedan, but Jake eyed it as if it was his figurative snake. Sabbath elbowed him with a smile. "Just get in. Leather seats are nothing to be afraid of," she said before piling in himself.

It's not that, Jake wanted to say, but climbed in anyway and very unhappily found himself squeezed between Sabbath and Farfarello, who was chewing on a slender knife blade with an unsettling gleam in his amber-colored eye. Just where he hadn't wanted to be.

"Uneasy, Inconnu?" Schuldich shot at him, leaning back over the edge of his seat with a wide smirk. He sprawled in his space like a cat, looking so effortlessly powerful that Jake found himself momentarily bristling. "You should be. Here's the cub in the lion's den…."

"Shut up, Schuldich," Crawford told him sharply as he put the car into reverse and swept out of their parking space. The engine growled in protest as he pushed it to greater acceleration before they left the garage.

"Hmph." Schuldich faced forward again and was quiet, and Jake relaxed with a slight smirk.

"Seems like there's always a bigger lion around," he murmured under his breath, hearing Sabbath chuckle in response.

"Satan prowls the earth like a roaring lion, seeking those he may devour," Farfarello breathed, a drop of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth to the almost delicate point of his chin. "All hail the lion of Judah…."

Sabbath reached across Jake and patted his knee. Farfarello ignored her completely and watched the spray driven up by their wheels as Crawford steered them toward the bridge.

They made excellent time, thanks mostly to Crawford's skillful driving and a few mental nudges on Nagi's part to keep them from hydroplaning. Anticipation made the silence thrum with energy and Sabbath's palms sweated even though the car was not at all warm, making her grip on her wood-handled katana slippery. She rubbed her hands on the soft leather of her pants, but it repelled the moisture just as it was supposed to, and frustrated, she pressed them against Jake's knee. He shot her an amused look, but said nothing. The quiet was too heavy to be cut by words.

The Triborough Bridge was almost deserted, even though its gentle rise made either end of it far more dangerous than the middle. After passing over Ward's Island and several more stretches of tumultuous water, they emerged in Hunt's Point. Crawford put them on the expressway and the tension grew. Sabbath wondered how her fellow Inconnu planned to make it this far. There was no entourage, no train of warriors riding north to conquer. She trusted that they would BE there, but the conditions were treacherous.

The seat of all America's visualizations of urban decay closed in around them, with its leaning project buildings and weedy sidewalks. It was a place of dull browns and grays, not at all conducive to hope. In the Bronx, it seemed, there was no brighter tomorrow, just the same gray day over and over. Row after row of projects stretched skyward and rusty, abandoned playground equipment served as makeshift entertainment for the children who grew up in the tenements. No one was outside. Even here, it was storming violently. She wondered briefly what meteorologists would make of the phenomenon the next day, and couldn't hold back a snicker. She could just picture Dylan tossing his dark head and smirking his post-canary-cat smirk, and silkily remarking that it must have been an act of God, his one remaining eye shooting a wink at whoever caught the double entendre.

He might die on this venture. They all might. She had never found much comfort in the idea of going down fighting, but at the moment, she almost did. If The One had more juggernauts like that one (oh, GODDESS, Jordan and Griss… her eyes filled…) they'd be in for the fight of their lives, and somehow, being smashed down kicking and screaming suddenly seemed much preferable to simply falling into eternal night.

Crawford guided the car into a parking space along the side of the street, and she realized they'd left the expressway long ago. He turned off the vehicle and for a moment they sat in silence except for the pounding rain. Then, with a decisive movement, he threw open his door and stepped out into the rain.

The rest of his team quickly followed suit. Crawford consulted his watch. "We have plenty of time to walk to the location," he said crisply, and began making his way down the sidewalk. They fell in behind him, still unwilling to speak and spoil the moment as anticipation made them all tense.

"Here," Crawford said as they came to an intersection that looked very much like all the rest, his eyes resting on a bent and rusted street sign. "Now, we wait."

"We're on schedule," Schuldich remarked, his eyes heavy-lidded and slightly unfocused.

They ducked under the awning of a closed local market and waited. Sabbath pinpointed the darker circle of a manhole cover against the cracked asphalt of the street. It was a heavy thing for a normal person to try to pry up, but to Nagi, whose mind could topple skyscrapers, it would be nothing. She shifted from foot to foot as another car engine rumbled in the distance, blending with the thunder.

"Ten o'clock," Crawford said quietly. "We wait ten minutes, and then we go down."

"They're moving," Schuldich murmured, his mind still elsewhere, riding with their vanguard as the Inconnu invaded the sewers. "The other tunnels are frozen over."

"A battle is won or lost in an instant," Farfarello breathed, fondling the blade he'd been chewing earlier and accidentally (or maybe purposely, it was hard to tell) slicing the side of his finger open. "A single heartbeat can mean the difference between eternal silence or that same heart beating again."

"Ten minutes is an eternity," Sabbath ascertained, working on a way to carry her katana in her belt loop to leave at least one hand free.

"An eternity in ten minutes," he agreed.

"It will be an eternity if you two don't stop parroting each other," Jake said testily, but before he could close his mouth, it dropped slightly open again, breath freezing as Farfarello's blade came to rest against his throat. His fist clenched and he almost lashed out, as the shadows around them suddenly darkened in hue. But Sabbath seized his jacket and yanked him back away from the blade, her other hand attempting to bat Farf's aside. He was much stronger than she was, however, so she ended up simply holding her forearm against his. "Stop it," she said coldly. "Neither of you is expendable."

"We are all expendable," Farfarello countered. "Any sacrifice is useful, any blood spilled another blow to…."

"To God. I know. We all know," she said sharply. "Leave God out of this, would you? He's older than the concept of time. He can wait."

Farfarello eyed her appraisingly for a moment, head canted slightly to one side, then stepped back and lowered the blade. However, there was something in his face that made Sabbath think she hadn't won. She turned away and stood up against the market window, eyeing the rows of shelves, packages of food bearing foreign script. Her throat swelled and she hummed quietly under her breath. At first, 'Uninspired' by Eight-Stops-Seven drifted through her head, but that was a thoroughly depressing song, so she switched to Billy Idol's 'Dancing With Myself'. Before long, she was singing it under her breath as she swayed back and forth in front of the window.

"Apparently, she took the wrong bus," Schuldich muttered. "This isn't American Idol."

"Leave her alone," Nagi said miserably, hands stuffed in the pockets of his raincoat, collar pulled up around his chin.

"When there's no one else in sight… through the crowded lonely night…I'm waiting so long for my love vibration, and I'm dancing with myself…."

Schuldich sighed in a remarkably put-upon manner and sent his consciousness spiraling outward again. And stiffened. "What…?" he hissed, but then Crawford stepped past him into the street, pushing him aside. "It's time. Let's go. Nagi, get that plate up."

Nagi's eyes narrowed and focused on the manhole cover, and it rattled in its frame.

Schuldich's dark blue eyes narrowed. "Brad…"

"Quit worrying about the nasty things you'll get on your coat and GO," Sabbath advised, bounding out into the street with Jake at her heels.

Schuldich almost forgot what he'd been about to say in a wave of annoyance, but even as metal scraped against metal and the manhole cover lifted up and settled elsewhere on the street, Farfarello appeared at his side, golden eye narrowed.

"What do you hear?" he asked.

Schuldich paused. It had been fleeting. He wasn't even really sure if… "I think we're being followed."

Farfarello's head twisted around, peering into the thick curtains of rain that masked the street from which they had come. "Enemies."

"Maybe." Schuldich started to reach outward again, seeking that odd tranquility he thought he'd felt for an instant.

"SCHU." Nagi was staring at them from halfway into the manhole. The others had disappeared already. "Come on. You're holding us up."

"Fuck. I'm coming," Schu told him, releasing the effort and heading toward the dark hole in the street. "If they want to come after us, they can slog through sewage just like us," he muttered as he spun and started to climb down the ladder.

Farfarello simply dropped down, landing in a crouch and unfolding like a switchblade to steady Schuldich's descent. "Who?"

Schuldich eyed the manhole cover even as Nagi started to slide it back into place. "Schwert."

X-X-X


	21. Chapter 21

Sometimes Ice's intimacy with his element was utterly ridiculous, Catria mused as she held onto his coat sleeve, feeling the surface beneath her feet undulate slightly just beneath the firm part that was holding her up. They were very literally standing ON a wave of water, a thin sheet of unmelting ice supporting the entirety of Isa cell as the small tsunami bore them downward at breakneck speed. It was like surfing without being able to control the board, as dominion over the water lay solely in Ice's hands. Their momentum made Ice's white leather duster and Catria's long, honey-brown hair stream out behind them, and not for the first time, she wondered what a power like Ice's could do if he turned it toward a greater goal, such as remaking the world.

At the moment, however, his concentration was solely on their progress down the twisting pipes and the blockades he had frozen into place in all the other possible escape routes. Scythe, so named because of the deadly 'blades' of telekinetic energy that his power could create, had one arm around Catria's waist and was helping her and one of their other cell members keep their balance. They rose over a small hump created by debris caught in the pipe and then hurtled down, like a roller coaster, and Catria clenched her teeth on a scream as they swept down the pipe and leveled out, the wave beneath them washing them over a ledge and then falling out from under them. They hung suspended in the air for a moment, then stabilized as the water beneath them rose up unnaturally and let the sheet of ice come to rest upon it, lowering them safely down and depositing them on the edge of a large sluice pool before receding into the pool itself.

Catria looked and saw more tunnels leading into this sluiceway. They stood upon an island in the middle, and one of the tunnels gleamed oddly, the edges of the pipe frosted over. Ice's barricade.

"We're nearly there," Ice said, taking a moment to rest his mind. "Two more levels, and the way to go is straight down."

"Barricade holding strong?" Scythe inquired coolly as he stepped to the edge of the concrete island.

"Strong and solid. I can make our way from here."

"Strange that we haven't encountered any resistance," murmured Troy, their other cell member. He had a short staff in his hand which he spun uneasily.

"We moved fast. They may not have had time to organize any," Catria offered, eyeing the sludgy brown water with distaste.

Ice contemplated that for a moment, brow furrowing. "No," he said at length. "They're a collective consciousness. There would be no need to organize. The Core would speak, and they would do, and we've come."

"Maybe Rel's already engaged their attention?" Catria shuffled a little closer to the water, peering down into it. She couldn't see far. The darkness shifted down there, making it look as though the shadows were swimming.

"If Rel was in battle, the whole block would know it," Ice murmured. "No. Something's wrong here."

"Do we press on or wait for a signal?" Scythe wondered.

"If we abandon the plan, we could be abandoning some of our own in the lion's mouth," Troy pointed out, "and if we keep it, we could be walking into a trap."

"Rel was our vanguard. She can take care of herself," Ice said coldly. "And I'm not taking any unnecessary chances. Stay alert – I'm going to flood the lower levels."

"How far?" Scythe wondered.

Ice knelt by the edge of the island. "As far as I can reach."

X-X-X

The air was stale and stank of death as it rushed past Rel's face fast enough to give her windburn. She fell, one hand clenched around Damon's hand, the other around Mars's, who was in turn holding Stefan's hand, who was holding Flynn's, who was holding Damon's. They were close together in a tight knot, confined by the tunnel walls. Hitting the lip of a feeder pipe would mean broken bones or worse, but there was nothing except grim anticipation on the faces of the men. The girls both wore slight smiles, Rel because she loved the sensation of falling, Mars because she loved the prospect of violence.

"One-thousand, one-hundred feet," Stefan warned. "One thousand, three-hundred. One-thousand, seven-hundred."

Rel reached out with the power of her mind and leeched the momentum away from their fall, slowing them to a gentle float about twenty feet off the bottom of the pipe they were falling through. They touched down softly and released each other, looking down the curving tunnel in apprehension.

"Weapons check," Damon announced, and with swift movements, the five of them checked to make sure their belongings were all in place.

"Check," Rel said firmly, having verified the presence of her single-edged short sword and her two small-round handguns.

Mars pulled her two street sweepers around to the front of her body and checked the clips. "Check."

"Check," Damon drawled lazily, fingers caressing the hilt of his sword rapier.

"Check," Stefan confirmed as he slammed a clip into the butt of his Desert Eagle.

"And check," Flynn echoed, giving his own, much-abused claymore a fond pat and pulling one of his semi-automatic pistols from its hip holster. "We're in business, love."

"Then let's make some noise," Rel said with a grin. Her hands cupped and a ball of bright blue energy sprang into existence between them. She turned toward the darkness. "V formation, weapons out, let's go." A flick of her wrist flung their only illumination down the tunnel, and Rel took off after it, booted feet kicking up splashes of water as she hurtled down the tunnel, her team at her heels. They had about a half mile north to go before the tunnel dropped away again, according to the map, and they needed to cover it fast and come down hard.

The tunnel floor was slick with slime, but they all wore boots with heavy treads, and managed to hold their feet just fine. The bodies of dead rats crunched underfoot occasionally, threatening to trip them up or cause a twisted or broken ankle. Their footsteps echoed off the stone and metal tube, as did the sounds of their harsh breathing.

"No animal minds ahead," Stefan called.

"They're in the wrong line of work," Mars scoffed. "They should go into the extermination business."

"No rats at all," Damon said smoothly, a bored expression on his handsome face. "How convenient. I smell a trap, angel."

"Then let's not be rude guests," Rel tossed back, shooting a barbaric grin over her shoulder as she ran like the wind. "Look guys, there's our exit." Ahead of them was a patch of darkness that the ball of blue light could not illuminate. Her grin widened as she put on a little extra speed. "Cow….a…. BUNGA!" she whooped as she leaped and dropped into the tunnel, followed closely by her cell. Mars let out a whoop as they hurtled through the darkness, which swiftly grew brighter as Rel conjured another ball of energy between her hands. It blazed brighter and brighter until it was almost white in color, and she pulled it up to her face level as the end of the drop approached. "HADOKEN!" she barked, sending the ball spinning down. There was a moment of silence as the light faded, and then an explosion that made the walls rumble and a gust of air that made them fight to hold their balance. This time, Rel waited until they were a few feet above the crater her attack had created before slowing them, and they dropped to the ground in ready positions, weapons bared.

They were alone in a sizable cavern, littered with the bones of rats and other small animals. The stench was truly sickening, and Flynn and Stefan gagged slightly. Damon merely wrinkled his nose and stepped into a more relaxed stance.

"There doesn't seem to be anyone here," he observed, eyeing Rel.

"But we pinpointed them," Rel said lowly, glaring around the cavern. "Five hours ago, they were here, all through these levels."

"Maybe we're not far off," Mars suggested. "Wrong room?"

"No," Damon said quietly. "They're not here at all. I can't sense the dead minds anywhere."

"They got out somehow, then," Flynn murmured, kicking a few carcasses aside. "They knew we were comin'. Coulda read our minds, maybe?"

"No," Rel said, her voice deadly quiet. "Could have been warned ahead of time."

"What makes ye say that?" Flynn wondered.

"The pack of plastic explosives attached to that support strut," she said calmly, pointing.

"FUCK!" Mars exclaimed, and Stefan grabbed hold of her just as Rel threw up an electric blue kinetic shield around them and the entire cavern exploded in a blaze of searing fire and blinding light, thunder echoing as timer after timer went off. Debris rained down around them, flying past them and shattering into dust as the ceiling gave way with a tremendous groan and several thousand tons of metal, rock, and dirt came down on their heads.

X-X-X

There was a low rumble and the water's surface trembled slightly, and Catria lifted her head. "What was that?" she snapped, and Ice leaped to his feet, upper lip curling back in a snarl.

Troy glanced up and behind them, and his green eyes widened in horror. "DOWN!" he snapped, throwing himself at Catria and knocking her to the floor even as the others whirled in that direction. Scythe half-crouched, but Ice flung his hands up in front of him, blue eyes blazing.

The tunnel that had been frozen over was glowing an ominous dark red and water ran off all sides of the pipe, which was also taking on a slight reddish tint. The ice cracked, and the red became brighter and then the remaining shards burst outward, disintegrating into steam as they went, and a sweeping motion of Ice's hand drew the water up in front of him just in time to block a torrent of fire that poured from the pipe as if propelled by the bellows of Hell's forges. Catria screamed and the whole room filled with fire that roared as it climbed the walls and reached hungry fingers toward the humans clustered in the center of the room. The water that stood between them and the fire evaporated instantly upon contact, and Ice poured more and more of it between himself and the flames. They couldn't see or hear anything beyond blinding light and the roaring in their ears, and the air was too hot to breath, stifling their lungs and burning their throats. The flames kept coming and coming, battering and reaching, and Ice channeled water as fast as he could force it, but then his shield gave way and he let out a cry of impotent rage as the inferno closed around them.

X-X-X

Lupe Torres was not a leader by nature. Growing up in the streets of Detroit, she had learned a vital lesson – live by the sword, die by the sword. She had met Jake Delano there, and under his charismatic guidance, Auspex Cell had sprung up and thrived. They had moved to New Jersey later on, where they had picked up Guilbeaux and Ash, and their group only knit itself tighter as it grew. The end result was that all of them sorely missed Jake now. His confidence was their driving force. But Lupe had his orders to go on and her own intellect, which was as sharp as the blade she carried in her right hand. Behind her, Ash, Nate, Rhian, and Guilbeaux prowled through the tunnel, Ash muttering periodically as his stylish clothing was ruined further and further by the muck that dripped from the ceiling. There was a soft smack as Nate hit him and whispered harshly for him to shut the hell up, and Lupe held up a hand for silence. They came to a stop at a junction of three waterways, and Guilbeaux took the opportunity to light a cigarette, which both Nate and Ash eyed enviously.

"We take the left fork," Lupe instructed them. "The other two should be frozen over."

"So where's the ice?" Ash inquired. "Further down?" He eyed the darkness of the other two passages with suspicion. They seemed curiously devoid of any blockage, and Lupe slid carefully up to one, extending a hand down it.

"The air is no cooler," she murmured, liquid brown eyes narrowing. "And the walls are blackened. There was fire here."

"Fire," Nate growled. "Fire melts ice." He flexed his hands, odd, bone spikes protruding from his knuckles that gleamed coldly. Rhian glanced around paranoidly through stringy hair and skittered sideways like a nervous cat.

"We've got ourselves a problem, cherie," Guilbeaux said with a slightly mad grin. "Your call. Press on or turn and run?"

Lupe stepped back from the passages and narrowed her eyes. "Neither. We take the right fork. We can take another series of passages to our destination from there. I know the way."

"Is d'at wise?" Guilbeaux wondered, exhaling a cloud of smoke and eyeing the tunnels thoughtfully. "If d'ey know we're comin'?"

"I refuse to abandon the mission," Lupe told her firmly. "There's too much on the line. But leaving our flank unprotected would be idiotic. So would following the route we planned if they know we're coming that way. This way, at least we have the advantage of surprise. Put out the cigarette. Ash, no talking. Let's go." She turned and began scuttling carefully down the tunnel.

Auspex fell in behind her, moving carefully now, watching their backs as they made their way through the passageways. Lupe led with her sword, Guilbeaux at her heels with twin semi-automatics. They clung to the edge of the tunnel, trying to stay out of the water and move as quietly as possible. Rhian made odd sniffling noises, eyes darting back and forth.

They ducked through twisting tunnels, ever descending, and the stench of smoke became stronger and stronger as they went. Finally, they arrived at a sluice tunnel that emptied into their original route, dropping down a dozen or so feet before leveling out again. Lupe paused and peered down into it. "I can't see," she cursed. "Damned tunnels…"

Rhian let out a yowl of alarm and Lupe whirled as the tunnel lit up, illuminating a single standing figure from which the light was pouring. He was male, with trimmed black hair, and held his hands out to the side in crucifixion style as fire licked at his body. His eyes were blank and staring, and Lupe cried, "DOWN!"

Fire reached forth, but two thunderous gunshots echoed through the tunnel and the flames flickered out before reaching them as the pyrokinetic dropped to the tunnel floor. What was left of his skull made a sickening splat as it hit the concrete, and Guilbeaux ejected the spent cartridges from her guns. "Coonass," she muttered derogatorily. "D'ese boys think everybody only knows one way ta waltz."

"What do we do?" Ash demanded. "There'll be more of them along soon."

"If somebody doesn't destroy The Core, we'll be dead anyway," Lupe told them. "Running won't save us. They'll have moved The Core somewhere else."

"D'ese tunnels go for miles," Guilbeaux pointed out. "And we ain't playin' paintball. We got a crawdad in a kettle's chance o'findin' 'em before d'ey cut us off."

"Ash," Lupe snapped. "Can you sense anything?"

"Nothing," Ash told her immediately. "It's a complete dead zone." He shook his head, then paused and slowly looked back at her. "Complete. I don't sense…." He stepped toward Nate and raised a fine-boned hand. "I don't sense ANYTHING."

Nate bristled and Lupe snarled. "Someone's blocking us. All of us. The other groups are in danger."

"We can't do dis on our own," Guilbeaux ascertained. "We goin' after de other cells, den?"

"Yeah," Lupe growled, whirling and breaking into a run. "Let's go! The others might have already walked into a trap! We're closest to Midnight and Isa, if we can get to them, we might be able to keep those _putos_ from closing the drag-net!"

Auspex Cell burst into motion behind her, and the tunnels echoed with the sound of their footsteps as they ran with all their might back the way they'd come, cold dread coiled in their bellies.

It was likely already too late.

X-X-X

Catria was enclosed in darkness, pressed against the hard surface beneath her by a heavy weight on top of her. Her head spun for a moment before she managed to recall how she had gotten there – she remembered fire. She gasped quietly and strained to get her hands and feet under her. The weight on top of her fell to the floor with a heavy thud, but she couldn't see what it was. She couldn't see anything at all – she was trapped in complete darkness.

Feeling around with her hands, which were raw and burning, she encountered equally burning flesh and something metal that was still hot. She pressed her fingers around it, finding a glass plate and a small jewel set in the rim. Troy's watch. Troy.

"Troy!" she croaked, throat thick with smoke. She coughed violently for a moment, then swallowed hard and tried again. "TROY." She shook his inert body and got a groan as a response. "Troy, wake up! You have to wake up NOW," she insisted in a panic. The One could be here any minute, couldn't they? Unless they had assumed that the fire had killed them all. Maybe it had. But Troy was still alive, for the moment. "Troy, WAKE UP!" she tried to scream, but ended up doubled over coughing again.

He didn't move again and she left him to thrust her hands out into the darkness, feeling for her other two cellmates. Her hands came into contact instead with something hard and warm. She blinked, rubbing her palms against it, unable to feel accurately what it was, but there was a familiar smell… pressing her nose to it, she sniffed.

Wood. There was a wall of wood around her. Heavy, dense wood, from what she could tell, but she couldn't identify the type by the smell. It didn't much matter, since she didn't have to – the short staff Troy had been carrying was made of Yew, so this was likely the same. Where any type of plant was concerned, Troy was… singularly gifted. In fact, he had one of the oddest Gifts she'd ever encountered, but at the moment, it was an unprecedented blessing. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned around, crawling across the cement in search of Ice and Scythe. She found a body in a heavy coat that was not leather and followed the coat to the face, which no longer bore stubble. Finding his shoulders, she gave him a shake. "Scythe, please, wake up." He didn't stir, but her fumbling fingers found a pulse that beat far too quickly for her liking.

This was going to be hell, she realized as she sat back. If Ice was conscious, he would have heard her calling and said something. If he was even inside Troy's wall. She crawled into the darkness again, searching for him, but her hands found only cement and scorched wood. She made a full circumference of the round enclosure, but Scythe and Troy were the only bodies she encountered. She spared a moment to curse liberally before scrambling back over to Troy's body and placing her hands on him. She didn't need to see to feel the currents of energy that ran through his body, and she passed her hands over him slowly, assessing the damage. He'd been burned, they all had, though her body had already begun knitting itself. She'd likely taken the lightest damage, since she'd had Troy's body shielding her.

Which had been damned thoughtful of him, or damned quick thinking, protecting the one who could heal the rest of them as long as she lived. His body was struggling to withstand the damage, but it didn't seem life-threatening yet. Infection would kill him swiftly, and his wounds were far from clean, but she could bring him back, she felt. She reached down inside herself and began to hum under her breath, rocking back and forth as her hands hovered over him. Her fingers and palms tingled, and a slight glow illuminated a patch of his t-shirt as she reached out for his body's energy centers and began re-channeling that power, adding her own to it and removing the blockages caused by pain and damage.

His breathing grew easier as she worked and his muscles relaxed the tense positions they had curled into. When she felt she had done what she could, she shifted over to Scythe and began to work on him in much the same way. He was a bit more difficult, as the source of his psychic powers was not inborn talent, but a prenatal mutation which had changed some of his cell structures. None the less, she managed to repair and realign the flow of his aura. Weary now, she sat against the wooden wall, ear pressed against it. Outside, she could hear nothing but complete silence, so perhaps the fire had passed. But just in case foot soldiers were following the initial assault, she slid her hands down her thighs and felt the leather-wrapped hilts of her knives. She pulled them from their sheathes and held them tightly in sweating hands, unable to do anything except wait for the boys to come back to consciousness and be ready in case the worst occurred.

X-X-X

"Something's wrong," Schuldich murmured as they crept through the stinking darkness, Farfarello leading, prowling like a hunting cat on the balls of his feet, Crawford bringing up the rear with his gun cocked.

Nagi looked up at him blankly, youthful face expressionless. "What is it, Schu?"

"Bad vibes," Sabbath said under her breath. "I feel it too."

"We are not the hunters here," Farfarello murmured, pausing to crouch and examine something clinging to the stone beneath his feet.

"The other teams?" Crawford inquired.

Schuldich paused, then shrugged. "The other teams check out."

"Are we still being followed?" Farfarello wondered as he straightened.

"I can't tell. Cross is hard to get a handle on," Schuldich told him, sighing and running a long-fingered hand through his hair. "No surprise."

"There are always surprises," Crawford told him dryly. "Has anyone else engaged The One yet?"

"No," Schuldich told him. "They're still moving."

"Wait," Jake said sharply. "They're still moving? They haven't encountered anything? Surely The One would try to move once they found the tunnels frozen over, and the only way to go is through us."

"I'm quite well aware of that," Crawford told him a bit irritably, and paused to eye the tunnel in both directions. He took a few slow steps in the direction they had been going, then stopped abruptly and pressed his fingers to his forehead.

"What do you see?" Nagi inquired.

"Get ready," Crawford told them. "We go on ahead."

"Would it kill you," Schuldich wondered caustically, "to just ONCE tell us what you saw, instead of giving us nebulous instructions?"

"We move on, Schu," Crawford told him, already striding past him with his gun pointed at the ground. Farfarello picked up the pace again and Sabbath fell in beside Crawford, leaving Schuldich to glare at Crawford's back while Nagi watched him.

"Fine," Schu muttered, slogging forward again and chambering a round in his handgun. He managed a few angry steps before Sabbath fell back, holding her naked katana tightly, the sheath stuck into the loops of her pants.

"Hey," she murmured. "Weren't there two of Schwert?"

"Yes," Schuldich snapped at her.

"Was the other one a quiet mind too?"

Schuldich paused. "No. He isn't."

"Then how can you not tell if he's following us?" Jake wondered.

Schuldich raised his head for a moment, then cursed. "Brad!" he snapped, slogging ahead in an attempt to catch up. "I'm being blocked!"

"But The One doesn't have that sort of power," Sabbath protested, and Schuldich snarled at her.

"I KNOW THAT."

"We have bigger problems," Crawford told him. "But we have no choice but to move on inward. Be on your guard, Schuldich. Mr. Delano, if you would be so kind…."

Schu went silent and the knot of people tightened subtly as the shadows rose and wrapped around them, cloaking them and making their progress more difficult, but much stealthier, as the thick darkness muffled their footsteps. They crept onward carefully, anticipation breeding tension as Sabbath's palms began to sweat and she breathed harder. They turned a corner and stepped into a wider access tunnel with several other tunnels feeding into it, all of them capped by a layer of ice except for one. Crawford led them there, murmuring a "be ready," under his breath as he tensely headed for the tunnel.

They passed several tunnels along the way, and even despite Crawford's warning, most of them were taken by surprise when the ice covering one of them shattered and a massive form swayed into the larger tunnel. It made a low, growling, groaning sound and its footsteps made the stone under Schwarz's feet shake. Roughly humanoid, it had hands the size of Crawford's torso and stood almost twenty-five feet tall.

"Kill it," was Crawford's calm order.

The air in the tunnel exploded with gunshots as the creature roared and raised its fists, stomping toward them. Bone spurs jutted from points on its body, including its knuckles, and its mouth hung open in a permanent scream, jaw twisted sideways. Crawford and Schuldich were both opening fire on it, and Farfarello leaped in without hesitation, his odd sword/spear ringing off the bone spurs as he searched for a hole in the creature's armor. Nagi stepped back behind Schu and Crawford, eyes closed in concentration as he reached out toward its body with his mind. But he found that even as he wreaked damage on the cellular level, the creature's body repaired itself so quickly that he couldn't do it serious harm. Crawford and Schuldich's bullets were having no effect on the thing except to slow its advance. However, Farfarello gained its immediate attention and it concentrated its efforts on him, catching him across the back with its knuckle-spurs and slicing his Kevlar vest open. Farfarello didn't even react, whirling and driving his spear point-first into the creature's wrist. It jerked its arm away and tore the weapon from his hands, but Farfarello was never without back-up blades. He gave his hands a shake and a set of long, single-edged knives appeared in them, and he quickly ducked under the slower creature's angry swing, slicing its other arm open. But the cuts healed instantly and the thing yanked Farf's spear out of its wrist, driving it down toward the Irishman. Farf dodged, and the spear splintered as it was slammed into the concrete.

"We aren't hurting it!" Jake yelled as he aimed for the thing's skull, his large-caliber handgun able to do a bit more damage. He pulled the trigger and a chunk of skull was blown away, staggering the creature before it pulled itself together and rumbled toward them. He ejected the spent cartridge and concentrated, pulling the shadows down around the creature's head, making it thick and suffocating. "Nagi!" he called. "Concentrate on its throat and its lungs! If we can deprive its cells of oxygen, maybe they'll all die!"

Nagi nodded curtly and shifted his attention to the creature's trachea, clenching down with an invisible vise and closing its airways as Jake stole the breath from it with his shadows. The creature slowed a bit, but it seemed to decide that Farfarello was too fast for it to catch, and turned, reaching out a mammoth hand for Schuldich.

Schu's face screwed up with effort, and suddenly a burst of force drove the thing's hand back long enough for him to scramble out of reach. It groaned unhappily and swiped at him, missing and driving its knuckle spurs into the wall of the tunnel. The entire pipe shook ominously and dust rained down.

Protecting his head with one arm, Crawford snapped, "get into the smaller tunnels! Sabbath! How did the Inconnu kill one of these before?"

"Jordan was a pyrokinetic," Sabbath said quickly, pressed against the side of the narrower tunnel, shaking in terror. "Burns are hard to heal, I guess? I don't know, they died trying!"

"That, I was already aware of," Crawford muttered, aiming at the thing's cranium, which was already healing from Jake's bullet. "It must have a weakness…."

"It's slow as hell!" Jake snapped. "By the laws of the universe, that's enough of a weakness!"

"It would help if we could actually hurt it," Schu snarled.

"Blades are better against things that heal," Sabbath suggested. "Or so says most vampire lore."

"Brilliant. Half of us haven't GOT ONE," Schu told her. "You're in the other half. Why are you still standing there?"

"I can't use this!" she protested.

"You're a fucking coward…."

"Children," Crawford cut in coolly. "Help has arrived."

Barely had he said it than the monster roared in anger and swung around, revealing a flash of black and red before its massive form obscured the scenery again. But Cross soon came dodging around the side, under the beasts arm, his longsword flashing as he hacked at the thing's armored body. There was a meaty thud and the thing staggered, a sword the size of a grown man lodged deep in its ribcage.

"Farfarello," Crawford snapped. "Take out its spinal column! Jake, Schuldich, fire at the head! GO!"

Farfarello fearlessly scrambled up the thing's back as bullets whizzed past his ears, using the bone spines as handles and fingering a slender, leaf-like blade. The monster took a swing at Calan, which he ducked, and drove its fist into the side of the tunnel with a thunderous crash even as the blonde brought his sword under and around, putting all of his formidable strength behind a downward slash. The sword thunked into the creature's arm and hit bone, managing to shear through it before losing its momentum and messily tearing through the rest. The severed arm dropped and the beast howled, thick blood spurting as the stump tried to heal itself. It swung around, but Calan dodged out of the way and Cross took a shot at its unprotected back. With the monster facing them, more shots rang out from the three holding firearms and chunks of skull were blown away, causing the beast to stagger.

Farfarello placed the slender blade at a spot right between the two highest vertebrae he could locate and drove it in with the heel of his hand. He left it there to prevent the creature from healing and leaped off of it as it dropped to its hand and knees.

It roared as it slumped toward the ground, almost in slow motion, and Calan swung his greatsword around, chopping it directly into the middle of the thing's back. The sword tore free as it fell, still twitching and moving its limbs feebly.

"Its nerve endings must have been double-wired so it would still be able to move if the spinal cord was severed," Crawford observed, stepping quickly up to it and emptying the remainder of his clip into the creature's head until there was literally no brain matter left. "Nagi, can you destroy it now?"

Nagi tilted his head and stepped up quietly, concentrating again on the thing's body and on pulling it apart at the seams. This time, it came apart with a wet rip, broad cuts opening along its body as the small telekinetic tore it limb from limb.

Schwert stood aside and said nothing as Nagi worked at his gruesome task.

"Now," Crawford said when he was finished. "Let's move on. Nagi, cave the tunnel in behind us. I don't want that beast coming back, or anyone else tailing us." He cast a meaningful look Schwert's way, and the two men simply offered grim smiles in return.

"If we hadn't been tailing you," Calan pointed out, "that thing might have killed you. What the hell IS it?"

"A biokinetic war machine," Sabbath said quietly, very pale and speaking as though she was afraid she might throw up. Or faint. "At one point, that was a human being like you or me, but the Collective turned it into something else. We can only hope they don't have any more."

"Well, now we know how to kill them," Cross said easily, flicking a bit of gunk off of his coat. "You'll have to forgive us for tagging along. We didn't realize you were involved in something so… Parasite Eve."

"This is not your fight," Crawford told them, as dust rose with a rumble and the tunnel in which the monster's corpse lay began to cave in, piece by piece. "But I suppose there's no help for it now. Truce, then, until we reach the surface?"

Calan eyed Farfarello. "Keep him off my back, and I'll gladly help you hack up behemoths."

Farfarello's eye narrowed to a golden slit.

"He won't touch you," Crawford told Calan coolly. "Let's move on. I'll brief you on the way." He turned and started down the tunnel, reloading his gun as he went.

Cross shot Schuldich a grin. "Ah, the fight-followed-by-a-team-up. It's a comic book classic. You don't look so good, Schu."

"I'm fine," Schuldich told him disdainfully. "Or as fine as I can be for being stuck in the sewers miles underneath the city with a collective of mindless psionic drones itching to graft my body into their neural net, walking into what I am fairly confident is a well-set-up trap."

"Some days just suck," Cross told him evenly. "But you've just got to sweat them out. Besides, 'I'm still alive' sex is some of the best, second only to make-up sex and 'I haven't see you for months' sex."

"What makes you think we're going to be having sex?" Schu wondered, smirking his way. "We're on opposite sides, in case you've forgotten."

"Pretend you're seducing me into disobeying Kritiker's orders to put a bullet through your head," Cross offered with a grin.

"Isn't that what I did?"

Cross smiled in amusement. "No. I never wanted to put a bullet through your head in the first place."

Schuldich sighed and shook his head. "You're one of a kind, Kreuz. I'm not sure why I like you, but I do. Which is why you have to understand, there's never going to be anything between us."

"Good," Cross told him firmly. "I never asked to date you, Schu. We'll survive this, we'll have incredible sex, you'll go back to Tokyo and I'll go back to my home, and it will be a nice thing to remember on sunny days when I'm feeling contemplative."

"A lot of people say that," Schu told him dryly.

"A lot of people think another person can make them happy, and that sexual satisfaction and happiness go hand-in-hand, when neither of those two ideas is necessarily true." Cross shrugged. "I'm already happy. I'm already content. I'm not missing any pieces. I won't cling to you. But since you seem wary of the idea, I'll drop it. I wouldn't force you into anything." He sped up and caught up with Calan, who was conversing with Crawford, so he could listen in on the rest of the briefing, leaving Schuldich to think it over.

Schuldich watched him with a look that was wryly thoughtful.

"He's the enemy," Nagi said quietly at his side.

But Schuldich shook his head. "I don't think Schwert has ever been our enemies," he said simply.

"Crawford won't like it."

Schuldich offered him a nasty smirk. "Well, that's all the encouragement I need."

X-X-X


	22. Chapter 22

Ice hurt. That was all he was really conscious of – the hurting, which was a gnawing, burning pain, and the way the unforgiving surface beneath him was pressing against his body. He hated fire with a passion, hated the pain of a burn beyond all else, and knew that this was why he had encountered such a powerful pyrokinetic. Pitting opposites against each other took sharp and strategic thinking, as well as advanced intelligence, to know Ice was going to be in this particular sluice-room at precisely the moment he was.

Amusement bubbled up wildly, and pain stabbed through his ribs as he chuckled.

The ringing in his ears was fading, allowing him to hear soft footsteps approaching him. There was a creak of leather and the footsteps stopped, and Ice fought to open his eyes, knowing what he would see. His eyelashes were gone, and through their sooty remains he saw a pair of scuffed black boots disappearing into the cuffs of fitted leather pants.

"You don't look so hot," came the silken whisper, and a hand caressed his head, causing the burned skin there to scream in protest. "Pun not intended."

"Just kill me and put me out of my misery," Ice told him dryly, his lips cracked and his voice hoarse. He hacked, body convulsing on the cement, and spat out a ball of black phlegm.

"You're not so badly injured," the caressing voice murmured to him. "You'd recover fully with hospital help, and be just as beautiful as you ever were. I do apologize for all this, but you're cunning enough to realize it was necessary. Forgive me, Irilisan?"

"Fell," he rasped, swallowing until he felt his voice would work. "Oh, I'd forgive you, you scorpion. But I'd be the only one. There's the others to contend with, and when they find out you've turned traitor, they'll tear your belly open and devour your soul, then shit it out and devour it again, a thousand times before they think you've suffered enough."

"They only wish they had that sort of power," he said dryly, kneeling and looking Ice in the eye. Ice was instantly lost in purest ebony, depthless and eternal, the reflection of the essence of The Void. "But their rage is impotent. They'll be grafted into my creation, my Collective, and serve me until they're used up… all except Sabbath. Her, I'll kill." Slender fingers trailed over Ice's burning cheek almost tenderly, and a quicksilver smile creased features so heartbreakingly beautiful they could have belonged to Satan, Himself. "But you, I'd spare if I can. If you'll join me willingly… not as my thrall, but as my partner. You're not like them, Irilisan… you're a scorpion too, and like me, your power could shake the world on its foundations. We're both of us monsters, and we could be gods, if you would only consider my vision: a world where Psis rule and humans are returned to the stone age, to labor forever as our servants and serve as food for our lusts. A world where power serves the Powerful, where the strong flourish and the weak are devoured. An essential world, a primal world of darkness, chaos, and spontaneity, a world where the likes of us could be deities in our own right. I would cleave to you as my other half, for surely you've realized by now that I love you."

Ice pulled himself together slowly, painfully, and managed to get his hands and knees underneath him, pushing himself into a kneeling position, then collapsing back on his ass. His head swam for a moment, but at least he was sitting upright, and he fixed blue eyes dark with amusement on the beautiful telepath.

"You don't know love," he said simply. "You know even less of it than I do, and that's saying something. What you know is selfishness, craving, and the bitter emptiness that is your soul. In that, you're right… we're not different."

"Come with me," he urged, eyes dancing hypnotically, leaning toward Irilisan, his lips parted slightly as his gaze fixed upon Ice's reddened and chapped mouth. "Cleave to me. No one else could be my equal, or really know me. Nobody else is as black inside…."

Ice's eyes softened and he smiled slightly, a devilish, sardonic smile that caused those black eyes to flare with glee. "Ruling a world of discordia, reveling in the pain and suffering of the masses that made us outcasts, taking as we please and bathing in the blood of the sheep?" he mused, still smirking. "Sounds like fun." His fingers shot out and wrapped around a slender throat, digging in with a tiger's strength.

Fell's eyes bulged and he immediately struck out at Ice's mind, but Ice's many shields slowed him and he wasted precious time battering them down as they sat there, frozen in their strange tableau, Ice's powerful hand squeezing Fell's neck like a vise, blood welling and dripping down his fingers where his nails broke that perfect skin, sweat rolling down both their foreheads as they battled in their minds. With a mighty effort, Ice shifted forward and let his weight topple Fell backward, clamping his other hand around Fell's trachea and bearing down with his body as well as his strength. Fell choked, beginning to turn an unhealthy shade of blue.

But it wasn't enough. Within their minds, Fell smacked the last of Ice's shields aside and came howling into the haven of his mind, tearing and ripping, shredding everything he found there. Ice cried out in supreme agony as he was rended from the inside, feeling his very self being unraveled, all his memories torn away and his personality receding like water down a drain. Precious little was left already, but with it, he sped things up a bit, digging his nails into Fell's throat, placing one hand on his shoulder, and giving a mighty heave. His shoulders twisted, and there was a ripping sound, followed by spurting warmth and wetness.

The attack ceased immediately. Fell dropped to the cold cement, spasming as his life's blood left him in a fine red spray. His eyes fixed on Ice then, hollow with betrayal and the loss of the thing he had wanted most in the world. His lips moved, just barely, forming a single word, a question.

Why?

Ice knelt over him, his chiseled features impassive. "Because you know less of love than I do," he said hoarsely. "And I know something of it. And because you're the serpent in the legends, who devours his own tail in his hunger – A terrible and cunning evil, but not a wise one. And because…." He dropped to the ground, bloody hands slipping on the cement and dropping him hard on one shoulder. "Because…." His cracked lips moved against the concrete. "Because your timing is fucking horrible," he breathed, and passed out.

X-X-X

Dust sifted down from the ceiling of a stone chamber, the only sign of movement in what had, five minutes ago, been a riot of noise and explosions. Plaster and concrete, carved into jagged chunks, covered the floor to a depth of several feet, and part of the cavern's roof gaped open to a higher level of tunnels.

In the center, a dull blue light shone from beneath the layers of debris. It flickered like a dying candle, then flared, then exploded into force, shattering the newborn stillness of the cavern yet again. Once again, chunks of matter flew in every direction and rained against the walls and littered floor, and in the place where they had been stood a single figure, blazing with brilliant blue light. Her hair undulated above her head, lifted by the force of the Power blazing around her, and her coat billowed, held in at the waist by her tightly clenched fists. The blue light shone out of her eyes, turning them into pools of terrible blankness, and her feet hovered several inches above the now-bare patch of floor. She was an awesome figure, rising steadily toward the ceiling as, below her, the other members of her coterie picked themselves up and dusted themselves off.

"A set-up," Flynn cursed as he checked his weaponry and found it all in place. Rel's outer three shields had all collapsed, but the very last one, which had stood inches from their bodies, had held, praise God. He touched the medal of Saint Christopher around his neck, which had been his mother's, and muttered a quick thanks to whoever might be listening.

"How delightfully unexpected," Damon said dryly, standing up and brushing himself off fastidiously, his already pale features taking on a corpse-like appearance in the blue light his lover was shedding.

"This took some preparation." Stefan was still on the ground, solicitously checking Mars for wounds. She batted him away impatiently.

"Then we WERE betrayed. Somebody deliberately double-crossed us," she growled, picking up her street-sweeper and slinging the strap over her shoulder.

"Somebody?" Damon said, his voice thick with irony, his face tilted upward to where Rel was floating and still blazing like a miniature sun. "Angel, calm down and come join us. We need to move quickly and wisely now."

At first, she didn't seem to have heard him, but eventually, the sapphire blaze vanished and she dropped heavily to the ground, landing with an apathetic thud. "We were betrayed," she said through clenched teeth, quivering with rage. "And my instincts tell me it wasn't Schwarz."

"Instincts and logic," Stefan said quietly. "They couldn't have done it. We didn't share the plan with them until an hour before we put it into action. Which means it was someone at our conclave."

"Which means we were betrayed by another Inconnu," Mars said under her breath, head shaking. "Which makes it worse."

"Aye, and who would?" Flynn wondered. "We, all of us, need to stick together for survival. Bloody suicide, this is, destroyin' the very thing what keeps you safe."

"It's not a matter of who would," Damon said disdainfully, eyeing them as if they were particularly slow children. "It's a matter of who COULD. If you'd consider it for a moment, you'd realize the options are limited. Who has the ability to know our plans even if not present at our meetings, control a collective of dead but Powerful minds, and keep us all from the truth at every turn? Who could block my Power?" he wondered in a deadly tone.

"Only a Telepath can block another telepath," Rel said quietly, her teeth still grinding together. "Only a Telepath could create the Collective and then control it. Only a Telepath could lift our plans from our minds. Only someone close to us would know his way around our shields."

"Fell," Damon said.

"Fell," she agreed.

"Psychic vampire boy?" Mars mused, then nodded. "I suppose he has motive, too, then. Everybody, even a Psion, is food for him."

"Who was Fell assigned to go with?" Stefan wondered, green eyes dark with worry.

"Midnight Cell," Rel told him dully. "Safe to assume, I guess, that they're all dead now. Which means we've lost Katerina, so that's at least one good Psion gone. Sabbath and Jake are with Schwarz, so I think they'll be all right. They've got two Wild Powers and they weren't born yesterday. Auspex Cell might be in trouble, though."

"And Isa Cell?" Flynn pointed out, thinking of the honey-haired, violet-eyed Catria.

"Ice is the most powerful Psion here except for me," Rel said quietly. "And Fell is cunning. It would have been his priority to finish the two of us first."

"Unless he planned something different for Ice," Damon suggested, his amusement adding a musical tone to his voice. "After all, he's always been a bit… smitten… with everyone's favorite cryokinetic."

"If the two of them have joined forces, we might as well commit seppuku right here," Rel said dryly. "But Ice has always been unpredictable and there's no knowing what he'll do. We'll go after Auspex first, even though they're farther away – they'd need our help the most. If we can recruit them, we can go after Isa and have a hope in hell of standing against Ice, if he's turned traitor. Pray it isn't Fell. My Power wouldn't do much good against him – it'd only feed him, and make him stronger." She checked her guns, secure in their holsters, and raised her hands, palms up. All five of them floated upward.

"What after we find Auspex and Isa?" Mars wondered, eyeing Rel closely.

"We either retreat or we push on," Rel told her. "Both courses are equally foolish, so I'd prefer to push on. If I'm to die anyway, I'd rather die facing forward."

"And Schwarz? Fell will surely have planned for them as well," Damon pointed out.

Rel shook her head. "That part is out of our hands and in the hands of the Lady," she said ruefully. "Let's hope She has Her eye on the dice."

X-X-X

"Mary, Mother of God."

Auspex Cell chose not to comment on this manifestation of their temporary leader's former Catholicism. They were too busy staring in horror and swaying on their feet, in some cases. Every member of Auspex Cell was hard through and through. All of them had seen death and all of them had killed. But this was… this was….

"HOW?" Ash demanded, lip curling at the sight of bodies scattered like dolls, atrophied in positions of intense agony, curled in on themselves – fingers like claws, spines impossibly bent, limbs grotesquely skewed. Above the heads, the necks ended in ragged stumps that had leaked copious amounts of blood that slicked the tunnel floor. The liberal spatters of red, gray, and green fluids seemed to indicate that something had caused the heads to explode, and not in the manner of a high-caliber firearm at close range; more like a popping balloon. The body of Nathan, the animal empath, was slumped against one wall of the tunnel. Near his contorted hand was a gun. The others apparently hadn't had time to draw weapons. Ariadne's red hair was caked in the gunk on both walls of the tunnel. Draugt's was unrecognizable.

"Where's Katerina?" Guilbeaux pointed out, remembering her cigarette and sucking it down to the filter before dropping it. It went out in the pool of fluids with a low sizzle.

"Not here," Lupe murmured, trying not to breathe the terrible stink of it. "Maybe she escaped…."

Checking further down the corridor shattered this hope. Katerina lay on her face, eyes wide and staring, blood trailing out of her nose, eyes, and ears. She'd held onto her guns even in death. Several rounds had been fired.

Lupe knelt and closed those ice-blue eyes which had lost their look of keen intelligence forever.

"What do we do now, cherie'?" Guilbeaux inquired, lighting another cigarette. Lupe stood quiet for a moment, breathing shallowly through her nose, thinking. She was just raising her head when Nate called to her from back the way they'd come. She didn't want to go back to that carnage, but Nate was not the petty type, and the urgency in his voice beckoned to her. She went to him, and found him standing where the tunnel wall curved slightly, fingers pressed against what looked like several small, dark holes in the cement.

"Bullet holes," he told her. "All within a five-inch area at chest height. She shot to kill."

"She missed," Ash pointed out dryly.

Guilbeaux began to laugh.

Lupe eyed her coolly. "Step forward, Detective," she said caustically. "Tell us what you see."

Guilbeaux gave her a smile of glittering insanity and brushed her gloved fingers against the hole. "Dis girl, Katerina," she said lowly, "she's what we coonies like to call a dead-eye. Her Papa was a cop, see… I knew dat much. These holes, dey all be right about where da heart be, and dis girl, she don't miss, you know? Either dose bullets go straight through… or der weren't nothin' der to hit."

"Nothing there to hit?" Nate growled, but Ash's eyes, currently a startled color blue, widened in horror.

"An illusion," he breathed. "An ILLUSION. The same way someone blocked my empathy, someone made her believe the person who betrayed us was standing there. She fired, but of course, she didn't hit anything, and…."

"And he finish her off, and dat be dat," Guilbeaux said with finality. "So you tell me, ma cher… just who gone' be able to make dat girl see what ain't there? Who put dat sorta illusion right in yer head?"

"A telepath," Ash said slowly.

"Schwarz?" Nate wondered.

"Perhaps. We've no way of knowing," Lupe said. "Rhian?"

The mousy-haired girl shuffled forward, arms wrapped around herself, eyes haunted.

"Do you smell anyone here except the dead people?" Lupe wondered. Rhian's nostrils flared once or twice, but she shook her head. "Then whoever it was wasn't ever here in person. They made their heads explode, literally, from a distance. That kind of power…."

"Only a Wild Power, cherie'," Guilbeaux said almost cheerfully, grinning around her cigarette. "Either dat boy Fell, or Schuldig of Schwarz. But it don't matter much, way I see it – dey still be pickin' us off one by one, and we still be fallin' like flies if we don't play it close and canny. Now might be da time to get outta here."

"Retreat?" Lupe repeated incredulously.

"Oui, ma cherie'," Guilbueax said, face turning grave. "What killed dese folk could kill us just as quick and we ain't got no defense against it. We done made a SHIT miscalculation, and if we ain't careful, it gone' be the death of us."

"Acknowledged," Lupe murmured, still gazing in horrified sadness at the corpse of Katerina Drake. "But…." She lifted her head and adjusted the sword that hung from her left hip, eyes hardening as they swept over her Cell. "If we retreat now, we'll never be able to stop running. There won't be anyplace safe to hide if we let The One win." She saw nods of grudging agreement among her group, and pressed on. "Death is better than assimilation. We all agreed on that before. I think it still holds true, and I think that for the good of the rest of the world, we have to at least TRY to shut The One down, even if it costs us our lives."

Nate looked quietly rebellious. Ash refused to meet her gaze, feet kicking at the floor. Rhian huddled against a support strut, eyes wild and frightened.

Guilbeaux lit another cigarette and took a long drag from it, then slipped her lighter away and tipped her sunglasses down her nose, revealing a gaze of broiling insanity. Her mouth twisted into a mad, crooked smirk. "Ain't nobody in dis world ever gon' believe we were heroes, cherie'," she pointed out. "Ain't nobody gon' know 'bout dis throw-down after it's done. Nothin' down there but death."

"Then I go to it unafraid," Lupe told her coldly, hand resting on the hilt of her katana as she stepped over the corpses and headed further down the tunnel. "I remember the way."

Guilbeaux's eyebrows raised, but then she chuckled and tossed the cigarette, still mostly intact, into the gore and started off after Lupe. "Well?" she inquired of the other three Auspex Cell members. "You gonna jus' stand here and let that girl, who got a mile o'guts, go an' get herself killed? Carpe diem, kids." She tossed back her long, unkempt hair and hid her eyes behind the dark glasses once more. "Every day's a good day ta die."

Nate's fists clenched, the bone spurs on his knuckles standing out in sharp relief in the shadows. He fell into line and Ash let out a put-upon sigh and trotted after them. Rhian, having nowhere else to go, skulked along behind.

They moved cautiously and quietly, though it wouldn't have made any difference to a telepath if they'd been a troop of ninjas or a marching band – they were just as obvious either way. Twisting and turning, forging their way deeper, they walked knowing that every step brought them closer to a creature of terrible power, a creature that would kill them all.

Lupe raised one hand in a sharp gesture and all movement stopped as she crouched and squinted. Guilbeaux, one hand on her sidearm, hissed between her teeth, "Dat blue light… you see dat, cherie'?"

"I see it," Lupe murmured, then straightened suddenly. "REL."

"Don't be so sure," Guilbeaux cautioned. "May be a trap."

"It's not trap," Ash said suddenly, stepping forward and heading down the tunnel in the direction of the faint glow. "That's her, I can sense her, and the rest of Raven's Gleaning."

"Sense her?" Nate growled. "Your powers are back?"

"Yes," Ash said impatiently, then paused. "….Yes."

"Maybe the telepath's dead."

Ash considered that for a moment, then decided he didn't dare to hope. Lupe was already running toward the light, one hand still on her sword hilt just in case, and Guilbeaux followed at a more sedate pace.

They needn't have worried – Rel was glad to see them.

"It's Fell," were the first words out of the Kineticist's mouth when she reached Lupe in the tunnels. "He's been behind this all along. All of this was an elaborate trap to get us down here and bottle-neck us, take us out one by one."

"You're sure it wasn't Schwarz?" Lupe demanded.

"Schwarz wasn't privy to our plans early enough to plant explosive charges in our path," Damon said dryly. "It was Fell. He's the only other telepath powerful enough to control this Collective."

"An' what does dat mean for the Core?" Guilbeaux wondered keenly. "Is der still a Core or maybe it be dat boy runnin' things from inside his own head?"

Rel paused and considered that. "There must be a Core," she decided finally. "It would have been too risky, and too distracting, for him to be the Core and also be working to betray us. No, there must be a Core – the Core controls the collective and Fell controls it. He would have left himself outside the web. But we've got another problem."

"We don't NEED another problem," Ash protested.

"Be that as it may," Stefan said quietly, "we've got one. Fell set up a trap to destroy Raven's Gleaning, and we believe it's because we've got a Wild Power among us, someone that he feared. If that's the case, there's another Wild Power out there, someone he may not fear so much as he WANTS…."

Guilbeaux understood instantly. "Ice. I KNEW he be makin' eyes at dat boy."

"And if they've joined forces," Rel added, "we're in massive trouble."

"Nah, Ice wouldn't go an' do that," Guilbeaux informed her without a trace of concern for this eventuality.

Rel blinked. "Why not?"

"Dey got dis word, cherie', 'unrequited'. It means Fell was hot and bothered over Ice, but Ice was cool to him like he be to everybody. Dat attraction only go one way 'cause Ice mebbe have eyes for somebody else."

"He and Sabbath weren't like that," Rel said with utter confidence. "I know them both. And I also know that Ice DID show some attraction toward Fell at times…."

"Dat boy play more mind games den any telepath I ever knew," Guilbeaux argued. "He think Fell's feelins for him be useful, he encourage 'em. I ain't sayin' he felt nothin' like love for Williams, but if I remember right, he taught her a lotta what she knows. They been friends for a long time, and if it come down to a choice 'tween dat boy and dat girl… I think I know who he'd pick."

"She has a point," Damon said blithely. "Ice was Sabbath's teacher in a lot of ways. He considered her a prize student, but Fell has always thought her worthless, as he has always thought any non-psi to be worthless." He smirked slightly. "If Fell was a threat to Sabbath's life, which he most certainly is, I don't see Ice standing for that. It'd be an insult to his pride."

"Ice is a fucking monster," Mars pointed out, looking baleful. "He doesn't have human feelings. I say he's probably teamed up with Fell."

"I say," Lupe broke in, "we go and find Isa Cell and ascertain the truth for ourselves."

"Good idea," Rel said cheerfully. "Let's do that, then. Damon, is the block still gone?"

"I know where they are," he told her evenly, and she nodded.

"Then lets go that way and see what help we can be."

"And if it's a trap?" Lupe wondered, still mistrustful of Ice, and for that matter, of his entire Cell.

"Then let's not be impolite guests." Rel's feet lifted from the ground and she flew down the tunnel, Raven's Gleaning falling in around her.

With a nod and a grimace, Auspex Cell followed.

X-X-X


	23. Chapter 23

"Throwing in your lot with us maybe wasn't the wisest course you could have taken," Sabbath murmured to Cross as they slogged through the thick, grimy water. Since leaving that last behemoth behind, they had been beset by a small army of The One, assailed with as many different Powers as there were colors in the rainbow, and herded rather skillfully off course, though they were slowly fighting their way back on. It was difficult going. For every psion that fell (thankfully, there was no room for the War Machine's in these smaller tunnels) three more took its place, and their tactics had become as mutable as water trying to deal with so many different threats. Cross and Calan had it easiest, in a way – no matter what was there, they whacked it with their swords. Sabbath had used her katana on more than one occasion, and thankfully, her lack of skill didn't dull the blade itself. It hacked through flesh and bone as any sword was meant to, though she knew her lack of grace dishonored it, mass-produced and commercial blade though it was.

Schuldich had long ago run out of bullets. The One was remarkably resistant to damage, even these low-level shock troops, and he'd wasted almost an entire clip in each gun before realizing that shooting for anything but the head was a waste of time. Crawford still had some ammunition left, but it was quickly running out, and Cross, Calan, and Sabbath were tiring. Jake was out of ammunition as well, and had suffered a broken jaw early in the fighting, which kept him a silent but seething presence at their sides. Farfarello knew no fatigue, of course, but his obvious pleasure in violence had dimmed somewhat as it began to become monotonous, hacking and slashing at bodies that felt no pain and gave way like mannequins when they were finally put out of commission. It was the dead evil, the insectile and insidious evil, and he did not like it now any more than he had liked it when Sabbath had first told them her tale of dead psions walking. His yells and trills had quieted – now he killed in silence, his breath coming harshly through his teeth.

Nagi had done little, as Crawford insisted he save his power for the larger threat which were undoubtedly lurking further down the road. He was the freshest of all of them, but the constant fighting and running had worn him down so that he, too, was panting for breath.

Even Crawford was disheveled and weary. "Pyrokinetic!" he called even as he dropped to his knees in the muck. "Down!"

Schwert, who had quickly learned that the word of a precognitive was to be obeyed, dropped instantly to the floor and Sabbath pulled Nagi under her arm, crouching behind a support strut. Farfarello merely pulled one of the drones in front of him and made himself compact.

Flames roared through the tunnel and licked around all of them, but Farfarello moved steadily forward using the corpse as a shield. His left hand slid behind his back and found one of his throwing knives, which he had held in reserve. He peeked out from behind his shield just long enough to catch fire full in the face and see the shadow at the core of the flame, and flung the knife. It spun end over end, the steel heating white-hot, but there was not enough time to melt the blade in the air and it slammed into the body of the drone with a dull thud. The flames winked out. Farfarello had suffered severe burns, but they didn't slow him, even the cracking of blackened flesh as he dropped the half-melted corpse and moved in to finish the pyrokinetic off. A single blow of his fist broke the creature's neck and he was beset by the drones which had been waiting behind the pyrokinetic to move in after the fire had done its job. Fortunately, Cross and Calan were there, hacking their way through the press of bodies and reaching hands.

It was hell.

For Schwert, it was even more hellish. Schwarz had shields well-honed from years of use and exercise, but Schwert was human, however remarkable. The low-level empaths in the crowd played havoc with them, sending terrible fear through them that threatened to lock their limbs, distracting them with flashes of intense lust and arousal, worming fingers of betrayal and rage into their hearts. It was only their years of experience that allowed them to hold to their training, focus, and batter down those barriers. Their blood ran hot, then cold, then bubbly and their muscles spasmed as the artificial feelings caused their bodies to release flood after flood of mood-related chemicals. Empathy was a common Gift, after all, curse it.

Cross fell to one knee, the back of one hand pressed against his forehead as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. "Calan…" he gasped. "I can't do this…"

Calan was gasping sobs himself, desperately swinging his sword in the confined space. "Get up!" he commanded. "Aladriss!"

Schuldich cursed and sent his mind spiraling into the minds of the assembled empaths, severing their connections to the mind of his sometime-lover and forcibly propelling Cross free of the mental net. _Get UP, Kreuz,_ he snarled_. I'll shield you._

Thankfully, once he was free of the imposed emotions, Cross's black eyes narrowed and burned and he rose to his feet, longsword flashing as he dispatched the drones with deadly precision. The drones retreated, and Farfarello began to give chase, knowing that the creatures would simply return to harry them further down the line.

"No," Crawford called. "Leave them. They're slowing us down too much, and we can not lose sight of the prize."

Farfarello didn't even have the will to snarl. He fell in obediently, hands loosely curled around the hilts of his knives and dangling at his sides as he staggered back to his leader. Cross slung an arm around his waist and walked with him, breathing harshly. Farfarello eyed him, but did not protest this, and Schuldich was waiting to check both their wounds when they made it back to the main tunnel. Crawford, however, had no patience for this. "We have to keep moving," the Oracle commanded, motioning Calan and Farfarello into position with quick jerks of his head.

"We have to stop and take care of these wounds or there won't be anything left of us by the time we FIND the Core, Brad," Schuldich sneered.

"There's nothing we can do about it, Schu!" Sabbath said in despair, tears streaming from her eyes as well, leaving trails of cleanliness in the grime on her face. "I couldn't concentrate on that now if I had to, and bandaging burns just makes things worse. We have to go on."

"Take it easy, sweetheart," Cross murmured, leaving Farfarello with Schuldich, who was eyeing the madman's burns with irritation and worry. He patted Sabbath's shoulder. "When things are desperate, you'll find that your courage goes deeper than you thought. In the meantime, I'm not badly hurt and Farfarello can't feel his injuries. Let's move." He nodded to Crawford, who nodded back in cool approval.

"At this rate, we'll have nothing in us when we do find The Core," Calan said pessimistically, having been briefed on the situation en route. "I admit, I never thought I'd die like this."

"Sewer or no sewer, psions or no psions," Cross said cheerfully, "to die fighting is to die fighting. Or did you think you'd pass on of a heart attack while in bed with several gorgeous women?"

"That would have been nice," Calan allowed.

Cross grinned at him. "Well, maybe it'll still happen. Just don't fall over yet. The future's not set in stone, after all."

"The Precognative's going to have to tell me that before I believe it," Calan murmured, smirking in Crawford's direction and receiving an answering smirk. Cross just laughed.

"This is all wrong, though," Sabbath protested to Cross, willing him not to dismiss the sinking feeling in her gut. "The bulk of The One's forces were supposed to be concentrated on the other Psions, but we see them here. There can't be too many more than this," she insisted. "I'm surprised there are this many, we would have heard of this many disappearances. Something's not right."

Cross considered this and, at length, nodded. "Yes, it does seem that we're being paid a lot of attention for having 'snuck' in." He glanced at Jake, who trudged along with his hands in his pockets, the shadows literally seething around him. Tendrils of almost physical darkness reached up to caress him periodically, as if the darkness itself was an over-solicitous lover. His shadows hadn't been able to hide them thus far, so he was in a position of uselessness and not liking it in the least. Cross wondered, though, if he was more capable than he was letting on.

"We were fucked over somehow," Schuldich muttered, moving away from Farfarello once he was sure he wasn't going to keel over within the next few minutes. "Somewhere, there was a hole. And who's to say it wasn't you?" he wondered pointedly, eyes narrowing in Sabbath's direction.

"It wasn't her. I would have Seen any betrayal on her part," Crawford told him sharply. "Now's not the time to cast suspicions. Can you find anything?"

Schuldich sneered, turning his attention to a mental scan and blinking. "I can't find the other teams," he told Crawford slowly, then more urgently, "no response from Midnight or Isa!"

Jake's eyes widened. "Auspex?" he slurred, wincing at the agony that shot through his broken jaw.

"Shut up," Schuldich shot back, leaning against the soot-blackened wall of the tunnel as he probed for Ash's mental signature. "Ash is alive. All of Auspex is alive. Raven's Gleaning is alive, but shielding – I can't get through to them like this," he trailed off in exhaustion. His chin tilted back. "Wait… Damon's there…." He listened for a long moment. Every second that passed by carried more weight. Any minute now, they'd be found again. They didn't have time for this.

Schuldich opened his eyes, lapis-colored gaze dark with hatred. "Fell. It's FELL."

"How could it be?" Nagi wondered quietly, reasonably. "He has as much to lose from all this as any of us. More, because he's a telepath. And we saw that war machine from The One nearly melt his shoulder off."

"A ruse," Crawford ascertained, straightening and brushing ash off of his Kevlar vest. "He was obviously willing to sacrifice a lot in order to get us here, where we'd be trapped and outnumbered."

"He didn't pick his ground very well," Cross pointed out with a snort. "In narrow tunnels like these, four can hold off four hundred."

"But eventually, we'll be overwhelmed." Calan leaned on his sword and eyed Crawford. "Thoughts?"

"It doesn't make sense," Crawford said slowly, but Schuldich spoke up.

"It makes perfect sense. Both how he could have done it, and why he would have. He's not a normal Talent, Brad. I should have told you before." The redhead's voice heavy with resignation.

Crawford eyed him sharply. "What are you talking about?"

"He's a psychic vampire," Sabbath said softly.

Crawford's eyes widened.

"That's not a good look," Cross muttered. "I don't like that look."

"He's a LEECH?" Nagi said in shock.

"Since he was a little boy," Sabbath told him solemnly. "He had an encounter with another psychic vampire when he was eight years old. That man tried to drain him, but Fell fought back, and because of his Talent, instead of dying…."

"He looped his own metabolism over itself and became a psychic vampire himself," Crawford ascertained. His jaw set. "And now he's using the unique abilities all psychic vampires possess to create and maintain the Collective. But to what purpose?"

""Why else does someone build an army?" Cross wondered quietly. "He's after power."

Farfarello spoke. "With power like this, he could rule the world and overthrow Eszet," he said softly, picking at a piece of burnt and curling flesh until it tore away and causing Calan to turn very green.

"Too simple," Crawford murmured, straightening his glasses. "But if that is his goal, we will show him the error of it." There was a deadly look in the Oracle's eyes.

Schuldich smirked. "Going to search the future?"

"I'll find him," Crawford vowed, and leaned against the side of the tunnel.

Calan let out a yell and swung his sword down, distracting the attention of the others, but Crawford remained deep in thought even as Schwert and Farfarello leaped to intercept another wave of The One's drones. Sabbath gripped her katana and stood between the dead-psions-walking and Crawford, just in case one got through. If Crawford didn't find Fell, they were running in circles, letting themselves be worn down. So it was important – critical, even – that the precognitive have the peace he needed.

There were only three in this next wave, slightly modified by biokinetics, and Schwert and Farfarello cut them down.

"Schuldich, shield us," Crawford said quietly.

Schuldich nodded. "Did you find something?"

"I found the enemy," Crawford said quietly, his tone deadly. "Come with me. Delano, cover our path. We have to move fast, and we have to move now." He pushed off the wall and set off.

Needing only the order to act, Sabbath leaped in behind him, and Nagi fell in at his right hand.

"It all comes to a head," Schuldich murmured, lighting a cigarette and offering the dwindling pack around before following his leader. No one took him up on it, though Jake looked mournful. "I wonder if I should alert the other teams."

"If they don't have telepaths of your caliber, they can't shield against him, right?" Calan said stonily. "Better not to. Whatever they do will distract him, and give us a chance to kill him."

"Cold of you," Schuldich said blandly.

"Practical," Cross corrected him with an easy grin. "After all, we're in the protection racket – as long as he doesn't survive to hurt any more innocent people, we did our job."

"You can't enjoy your paycheck if you die," Schuldich pointed out as Crawford led them down through narrow crossways that were in bad repair, little-used passages barely big enough to stand up in.

"Eh, it's just money," Cross said with a laugh that turned into a cough as he doubled over, one hand resting against fractured ribs. "Who needs it? I'll tell you what, when we get out of this alive, I'll take that paycheck and treat you to Guinness and a week's vacation at this great bed and breakfast I know of in North Carolina, right on the coast. Clean water, clean sheets, and all the privacy in the world. And no psychic vampires."

"After I get out of this alive, I'm going HOME," Schuldich muttered in response. "No psychic vampires, and easily-defeated enemies who are fun to play with. Not that you're not fun, Kreuz."

"Do you really think of Japan as home?" Calan wondered.

"Japan is a means to an end," Schuldich replied flippantly, pausing to catch Farfarello as one of his legs gave out from under him. "Shit. Favor it if it's twisted, Farf. We're just there because right now, it's the best place to be. But we've been there so long, I guess it's home, sort of. Not planning on tracking us there, are you?"

"Sorry," Cross said dryly, smirking at Schuldich. "I'll have to check my schedule, but I'm pretty sure I can't be arsed."

"Shut up," Crawford said quietly. "It's time to act professional."

Cross obediently shut his mouth. Crawford was right, of course. This was a life or death situation and they were about to walk into the worst of it. He wanted it to be over as much as anyone else, of course, but he had to admit, there was something sort of nice about being around Schu and not having to work around a deception.

_Idiot,_ he chastised himself gently. _Your life hangs in the balance and you just want to fuck him again before he goes away._

He glanced at Schuldich to see if he'd heard, but the telepath was with Farfarello and had his back to him, so his expression was hidden. Deciding that it wasn't important, Cross let go of the thought and let his mind subside to its usual near-silent murmur.

They came to a sheer drop and Crawford motioned to Nagi. Schuldich immediately reached for Crawford's hand and Farfarello's, and Farfarello took Sabbath's hand, startling her. She caught on quickly, however, and reached for Jake with a weary, ironic smile.

In a moment, they were all linked. Nagi preceded them into the pipeline, concentrating fiercely. It was a long and arduous drop, as the pipe wasn't very wide, and all of them were scraped and bumped against the sides more than once as Nagi fought to control their descent. The pipe curved into an almost horizontal line, leaving them to pick and slide their way through the built up muck. They moved without speech, a solemn hush falling over the group as Crawford guided Nagi through the twists and turns of the sewer system. They were far enough down that the grime was unidentifiable and stank more of rot and rust than waste. Cross lost track of time, and stopped counting minutes, keeping his grip firmly on Calan's hand and moving with great care through constricted space. Finally, they stopped in a length of tunnel too narrow for them to do more than crouch, and Crawford gestured. Schuldich relayed his thoughts.

_Twenty feet ahead of us is a drop of about twelve feet down into the chamber where we will find our true enemy. Once you land, get out of the way. He is not prepared for our intervention – I See him in a great deal of pain. Move fast, be ready, use lethal force. Understood?_

There were nods all around.

_All right,_ Crawford approved. _Release hands. On three. One…two…_

_Three._

X-X-X


End file.
